


Long Time Coming

by morvish



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Camp, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Jean & Sasha & Connie, Jean wears a parka, M/M, Making Out, TW: Arachnophobia, tw: underage drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2017-12-25 23:58:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 57,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/959147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morvish/pseuds/morvish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean spends every summer working at the world's worst camp. And every year there's been this guy - this guy he has never spoken to, nor had any particular desire to. Except this year, instead of getting the pleasure of beautiful Mikasa Ackerman's company, Jean has instead been roped together with Marco Bodt to look after twenty whiny children.</p><p>And he's pretty sure it's going to be hell on earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And We're Moving Again

**Author's Note:**

> holla. the title is reference from the song Working Man by Imagine Dragons which is suitably happy for what i intend this fic to be and kind of actually suits the story, and is also just a great song even if it does make for a dodgy title. hope you enjoy!!

Jean leant against the window of the hottest car in existence. He had already asked numerous times to turn the air up but every time he did Sasha had swatted him with whichever snack she had been munching on and told him that it was bad for the environment, before promptly throwing its wrapper out the window. The last time he had had to wash some melted chocolate out of his tee at the next gas station they stopped at, and eyeing Sasha cautiously he noticed she was now eating some sort of horrifyingly gooey looking breadstick and cheese spread sort of array, and he did not feel like smelling of dairylea all day. Not in this heat.

Connie began to fiddle with the radio station, one hand on the wheel, both eyes off the road. Jean rolled his eyes and left him to it; Connie was universally known as the best driver out of their group of friends, and the only one with a car. For which Jean would be eternally bitter about. Maybe if Connie smashed into a tree and killed the three of them while he was trying to find some good music, Jean would posthumously be able to hold place as number one driver. Sadly they did not crash and burn, as Connie managed to find the channel he wanted and his attention was once again on the road.

Sasha munched away in the middle back seat, vaguely singing along to the Linkin Park song Connie had decided was nearly worth their lives, occasionally spraying Jean's shoulder with breadstick crumbs and so far luckily not with clumps of viscous processed cheese.

They were on their way to camp, like every summer since they were about eight. Except for the past few years they had been going as counsellors when Hanji, their – uh, kooky – camp leader had become low on staff and realised some of her regular camp goers were now too old to go anymore.

“Hey, you guys need money, right?” was what she had said, and that was that. Jean knew he had no option but to waste even more of his summers on this lameass camp for another five years. Of course Connie and Sasha always went purely “4 da memreez” as had been their eager reply, but for Jean it was all about the dolla. The dolla and the bitchez. Well, singular bitch. Not a bitch. He shook his head. Girl. Woman. Mikasa. His beloved partner in counselling. Every year he got the 10-11 year old group, and Mikasa would help him in her cold, quiet way. And he loved her for it.

He sighed happily, thinking about all the time he was going to get to spend with the beautiful, dark-haired girl all summer, before Sasha's mouth opened and instead of just crumbs a gob of gross cheese flew out and hit his cheek.

“Oh, sorry, Jean, you should be more careful with where you put your face,” she said, mouth still full. Jean unhappily scraped it off his cheek. “Connieeeeeeee,” whined the disgusting creature behind him.

“Sashaaaaaaa,” whined Connie back.

“When will we get there?”

“Um,” Connie flicked the indicator. “Now!”

They pulled into a gravelly car park as Sasha squealed happily. Before the car had even stopped she threw the door open and rolled out, landing very unladylike, underwear flashing. Jean rolled his eyes for the millionth time, really feeling as though he at least got to exercise his eyes while hanging out with Sasha and Connie. He mused on how in their lifelong friendship Sasha's underwear had been far too frequently revealed, and shook his head in bit back laughter. Connie looked mad that he hadn't been able to roll out too and Jean prayed to whatever deity was up there that he wouldn't in the last moment because it would be too much for him to have survived the whole journey only to ram into something at the end and blow up.

Thankfully Connie parked safely and immediately jumped outside to join Sasha in her stretches which were honestly more like unconvincing moves from a crappy Kung Fu movie. Jean leant over to turn the engine off and pull out the keys. He also checked the handbrake was on, just in case.

As he exited the car he breathed in the smell of the woody area. It was really beautiful there, he had to admit. The huge wooden HQ building and its car park were in the middle of a large copse, and if you followed a path through the trees you would come out to a large unwooded area with playing fields, the cabins and a lake. If he was honest, having spent nearly every summer of his living memory there, it would be very strange not to go.

He quickly cracked his back and stretched out his limbs and neck, surreptitiously and quietly unlike Connie and Sasha who had apparently started some strange tribal dance, including a chant, to shake out their extremities.

“C'mon, assholes!” Jean called to them as he headed towards HQ where the rest of the counsellors would be. They hooted joyously and followed him inside to the cooling breeze of an AC and the comforting natter of lots of people in the foyer. A few heads turned to see who had just walked in, and a couple of people cried over to the trio, to which Jean raised a hand in greeting. He knew a few other counsellors, but it was hard to know everyone when you were constantly split apart from others and forced to interact with tiny whine-monsters instead.

Ah, he was being unfair. He did like looking after the kids. Most of the kids.

He waited with Connie and Sasha by the buffet table for about ten minutes, as more counsellors began to arrive. Much as he loved them, Jean was quite excited to get away from them; spending five hours in the car with the boisterous duo was long enough. Connie and Sasha chatted loudly about the hijinks they were going to get up to and the pranks they were going to pull on others, while Jean laughed and nodded his head occasionally, agreeing to fuck knows what, as he neurotically checked the door every time he heard it squeak open. All he could concentrate on was the prospect of seeing Mikasa again. But strangely, she never came through the doors, and before he knew it Hanji had appeared at the top of a flight of stairs to greet her adored employees.

“Greetings, children-wranglers,” she announced, arms wide open. “Welcome to another year at Camp Rosa. Before you go into the next room to begin your day of training, I just wanted to thank you all from the bottom of my heart for coming once again to brighten the lives of all the young souls that will be joining us tomorrow. You may notice we have a few new rules, put in place by the powers that be.” Hanji rolled her eyes and shrugged at everyone. “Rules that include only sharing cabins with those of the same gender as yourself,” - there was a loud grumbling heard somewhere in the room - “no alcohol allowed onsite,” - someone yelled an obscenity - “oh! - and if anyone official looking asks, you're all over the age of eighteen. OK? Wonderful. Now go, my pretties. If you just go through those doors there, you can start your training.”

Jean huffed in amusement. Like hell the no alcohol thing was going to happen. If you put a large group of late-teens to early 20 year olds together, someone was going to sneak in something illegally intoxicating. He was pretty sure Hanji knew that and didn't care. He began following everyone into the big hall where they would be split into partners with the people they would be sharing a group with, and waited patiently for Mikasa to join him.

He watched as other pairs found each other: that weedy blond kid and Annie, the permanently angry girl, joined up; Connie and Sasha always together in the corner making noise; Reiner who was nice but somewhat intimidating, and his equally intimidating and tall partner with her freckles; Christa, the blonde goddess, and Bertl; a lot of faces he recognised but didn't know, and even some new faces. But still no Mikasa. Eventually everyone had entered the hall and was paired up. Everyone but Jean, who narrowed his eyes in confusion.

He raised his hand to the current instructor. The short one who always looked really mad. Levi or someone. He glared at Jean.

“Uh,” said Jean, “my partner isn't here.”

“Are you sure?” said the guy. Jean didn't like him. “Go check the sheet.”

Jean headed over to the partner sheet that went up every year and yet was something he had only ever had to check once as he knew he always got paired with Mikasa. But he did so just to humour his superior.

He skimmed down the page, looking for his name and finally found it. Next to his name was written another name. A somewhat unfamiliar name. A name he did not want to see there. A name that was not Mikasa Ackerman. A name that was _Marco Bodt_ instead.

“There's been some mistake,” Jean said, tapping the piece of paper insistently.

“There are no mistakes,” replied the instructor sharply.

“Ah, but you see there is, because I should be paired with Mikasa. Mikasa Ackerman?”

“Not this year. Ackerman couldn't make it. Who is your partner?”

“Marco Bodt?” Jean replied in numb astonishment. _Noooooooooooooo_ , his internal monologue cried.

“Ah, he will be arriving later in the evening.”

“Doesn't he have to do the training?”

“He's done it before.”

“So have I, sir.”

“Get back into your position, Kirstein, you're going to have to pretend you have a partner.” Levi looked him up and down. “Knowing you, it shouldn't be difficult.”

There were a few stifled giggles, and in the back uproarious laughter from two very familiar sounding voices. Jean fought the urge to flip the git at the front of the hall off, and went back to his place in the room, where he spent the rest of the day having to pretend to hold hypothetical conversations that might occur with pre-teens with a non-existent partner. When evening came around and training was finally over Jean exhaled a massive sigh of relief, tinged with the bitter knowledge that despite the hell of the day, the summer was only going to get worse without lovely Mikasa.

Jean left the hall with the other counsellors, and into the hot and sticky evening, where they were ordered to let off some steam before going back into the canteen for dinner. Jean sat on the veranda steps with his head in his hands. He heard footsteps approaching.

“Don't worry, Jean,” said Sasha next to him. “It'll be OK. I bet Marco's really nice. I'm sure you'll have seen him around before; y'know, quite tall, freckles. I think that's him, right?”

Jean nodded sagely. Yeah, he could remember the guy sort of. He'd seen his face around before and never really thought anything of it. But from that moment he decided that he hated Marco Bodt. He hated him for humiliating Jean with his solo performance in training. He hated him for making Levi, the twat of all twats, get one over Jean. And he hated him for not being Mikasa Ackerman.

Sasha looked torn between wanting to comfort her friend and go play with Connie, so Jean waved her away, assuring her that he was fine, and spent the next ten minutes glaring into space until they were called to the canteen.

Jean, Connie and Sasha sat together on their usual table with the plates full of Mexican-ish food and discussed why Mikasa wasn't there this year.

“Do you think she went to college?” asked Connie, shovelling more than a forkload of sauce-covered beef (?) into his mouth.

“She's not old enough, silly,” replied Sasha, her mouth already full.

“I bet she's clever enough to get in years earlier,” pointed out Jean, prodding the air with his fork for emphasis. “I mean if anyone could get into college early, it would be her.”

“But then why would that mean she has no time for camp?” asked Sasha, mouth already full again with more food.

Jean shrugged. “Maybe she needs to pack and get stuff prepared.”

“Or maybe you're just trying not to think about what's most likely; that thing you're dreading!” Connie piped up.

“What's that?” asked Sasha, wiping her chin.

“That she's spending this summer with that Eren kid she was always going on about!”

Jean shuddered involuntarily.

“I'm sure she's not-”

“Don't lie to me, Jean! You're thinking it too,” Connie smiled a shit-eating grin.

“Ohhhhh dang, yeah!” agreed Sasha. “She had a picture of him for her phone background.”

“So?” said Jean. “You two are each other's backgrounds.”

Connie and Sasha looked at each other, and shrugged.

“Yeah, and we connect on a level beyond that of mere humans,” Sasha said bluntly. Connie nodded.

Jean dropped his head in his hands. “What am I going to _do_?” he moaned.

Sasha leant over to pat him awkwardly on the back. “There, there,” she said, as her T-shirt partially dropped into Jean's chilli, and when she leant back she didn't really seem to care, just absently brushed her fingers over it and then ate from them. Jean looked on in suffering distaste, until the relative peace of their group silence was interrupted by the slamming open of the canteen doors, and in walked in a gangly boy with freckles, and a pink-ish hoodie.

The boy blushed at the noise the doors had made, as everyone hushed and turned to face him.

“I'm so sorry,” he held his hands up apologetically. “The doors were – a lot lighter than I expected them to be!” He laughed, and rubbed the back of his head. A few people chuckled and turned back to their meals. A small group of people on a table across the way whooped and called the boy over, clearly his clique. He shimmied his way between the tables over to them happily.

Jean 's glare followed him all the way, for this was the boy he knew as Marco Bodt, his new nemesis.

“He looks like a jerk, right?” he said.

Connie and Sasha blinked in unison.

“Yeah, such a jerk,” said Connie.

“I can't believe they let such a jerky person become a counsellor,” agreed Sasha.

“Look at him over there. Jerkily laughing with his friends.”

“Look at the jerk-esque look on his face as he goes to get his food.”

“Food for jerks.”

“Jerky food.”

“Like … beef … jerky.”

“Jerk.”

“Shut up, guys,” glared Jean.

Sasha giggled.

Jean watched as Marco Bodt made his way back over to his table of friends, and they began talking animatedly at him. He was clearly very popular with them. Suddenly one of the friends pointed over to Jean, who flushed and frantically looked back towards his food and tried to eat it as though he hadn't just been watching the boy for a suspiciously long time. He missed his mouth and got chilli all over his face just as Marco Bodt caught his eye and waved.

Connie and Sasha spluttered as they tried to contain their laughter, but Jean shot them a nasty glare and they just about managed to stop themselves from releasing their obnoxious guffaws.

* * *

Connie threw Jean's bags over to him from the car boot, and turned to face the boy.

“I can't believe we're not in the same cabin this year, man,” he said, looking genuinely upset. “I have to share with Armin. I guess that's OK though. Actually I really like Armin, he's a cool kid.” And suddenly Connie looked a lot perkier.

“Thank you for getting over that loss so quickly,” Jean sighed. “I can't believe I have to share the cabin with – ugh.”

“Pat, pat,” said Sasha as she unhelpfully touched his arm a few times. “Gotta just get over it.” She reeled from Jean's glare. “I mean on with it. I mean just gotta get on with it.”

“Onwards, soldier. And try not to be too mean to the jerk,” added Connie.

“Yeah, that jerky jerk,” nodded Sasha.

“Also, don't forget to invite the jerk to the party.”

Jean slung his bag over his shoulder and walked away while Connie and Sasha chuckled to themselves. He walked through the path in the trees towards the cabins and reminisced over the annual bonfire party the counsellors held the night before the campers arrived. Connie and Sasha usually managed to be the ones in the centre of it all, being the heroes that always brought alcohol and snacks, so although it wasn't technically their party, most people would refer to them when talking about it.

He made it out of the shade of the trees into the darkening twilight; a solitary star hung in the purpley sky over the cabins and the fields, twinkling on its sad lonesome. He checked his key and headed over to the numbered cabin. He jogged up the steps to the door and took a deep breath in, mentally preparing himself to deal with what – or who – was waiting inside.

Opening the door, he saw Marco Bodt was unpacking his things into one of the little chest of drawers at the foot of the beds. Marco Bodt whipped around, and his freckled face cracked into a grin. Jean hated him and his freckles.

“Hey!” he said, his voice softer than Jean expected. “I'm Marco, and you're Jean – but I guess you already know that, right,” he laughed anxiously. “Sorry I don't know why I'm so nervous, I've just known you for quite a while but we've never talked before! Ha ha, isn't that strange. I'm just unpacking, and rambling. Oh God, please stop me. By the way, I'm sorry I just took the first bed without even thinking. We can still swap if you like?”

Marco stopped, looking at Jean expectantly. Jean realised he had pinned himself against the door from the other boy's tsunami of words.

“Um,” he said, peeling himself from the door. “No, that's OK. You keep that bed.”

“Oh,” said Marco. “Sure, thanks!”

He went back to unpacking his things, humming a little to himself.

Jean dropped his bag onto his bed, looking sideways at Marco who was bending over his own bag. _What a strange person_ , he thought. _Does he always just say what's just_ in _his mind like that?_

Jean stared at Marco's back, covered in that pink hoodie. He was wearing some nicely fitting, dark-coloured pants and Converse-type sneakers. He didn't seem to be completely fashion impaired – not that Jean was claiming to be an expert, but he just didn't understand why someone like Marco was wearing a pink hoodie.

“Huh?” Marco said, double-taking as he noticed Jean staring. “Jean?”

Jean blushed. “No,” he said, the first word that came into his head. “I mean, uh, why is your hoodie pink?”

Marco looked down at his hoodie. “It is?” he asked.

“Yeah, man, that's straight up pink.”

“Huh,” Marco said slowly. His eyes slowly widened. “The heck? It _is_ pink. This used to be my favourite red hoodie. I guess I never noticed its colour faded.”

Jean felt bad all of a sudden.

“It looks really good on you anyway,” he offered. He corrected himself quickly, “I mean,” nostrils flaring, _why would I say such a stupid thing?!_ “I mean, it suits you.”

“Thanks, Jean.” Marco smiled, his freckles creasing. “You're not just saying that though, because I made an idiot out of myself already today?”

Jean felt his ears grow hot. “N-No. Honestly, it looks fine,” he said sharply, turning back to his unpacking.

“Oh, by the way! Are you going to Sasha and Connie's party? I know you're friends with them, but I didn't know if-”

“It's not their party really.”

“Yeah, I guess. But they pretty much run it every year, right?”

“Yeah yeah, I'm going to the party.”

“Cool, I'll walk with you then. May as well get to know each other as soon as possible – if we're going to be spending the next month and a half together.”

Jean growled under his breath.

“Yeah.” He forced the words out. “I guess.”

Marco finished unpacking and sat on Jean's bed, nattering casually to Jean, even laying back comfortably (much to Jean's annoyance), while Jean finished his own unpacking. Once Jean was done, Marco suggested they go straight over to the bonfire as they were already quite late. Jean agreed, although bitterly, not that Marco seemed to notice. And together they walked from the cabin, under the deep blue of the sky and its sprinkle of stars, towards the bright flames of the bonfire in the next field over.


	2. Tell me, Tell me, Tell me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean thought the only way he could ever survive being a counsellor at camp was when beautiful Mikasa was there too, but this year things are going to be a lot different, and Jean is certain he will not be able to handle it.
> 
> Jean finds out that his new partner is Marco Bodt, someone he's seen around many times before but never really spoken to. And as much as he tries to hate the kid, he just can't seem to make himself do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok also i forgot to thank eccoecco for her help in editing this, because i am a terrible typo-er. just terrible.

Marco stopped trying to make small talk about the third time after Jean mercilessly performed the nodding disinterestedly trick. Instead the guy was wearing this confused look on his face, like he couldn't understand what was so wrong about his conversation. Jean was almost swayed by the way one of Marco's freckles would be tucked into a crease by his eye as he looked down to stare at his feet, but Jean steadied his resolve and stopped himself from being anything other than Marco's natural enemy. He wasn't even sure why that freckle should make such a difference. He hated Marco's freckles and he hated Marco.

They made it to the field the bonfire was in. There were at least thirty counsellors running about drunkenly, blatantly ignoring Hanji's new rules about alcohol, and from the looks of things a few were likely to be conveniently forgetting the boy/girl cabin rule too. Around the field were littered random picnic blankets, and some tables, buckling under drinks and food. In the middle a huge fire roared, spitting and crackling comfortingly, its fingers of smoke stretching high into the night sky. Huddles of teenagers were sat or stood around, chatting and playing games. Marco touched Jean's shoulder and Jean turned to him sharply. Marco pulled his hand back quickly, seeming to remember Jean's animosity.

“I'm going to go see my friends now. I guess we can get to know each other – you know, the normal way.” Marco smiled, and Jean narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “See you later, Jean!” And he jogged away, giving one last wave as he left.

Jean let out a relieved sigh and went to the nearest table where he grabbed a bottle of the strongest beer and a handful of mini pretzels. He headed towards the bonfire, stopping about ten feet away, the closest he could get without burning off half his face.

He slid down onto one of the picnic blankets and sat snugly, his back against the heat, and faced towards the rest of the party. He liked just being able to be by himself, but amongst everyone else. Occasionally people would come over and greet him, like Armin, who sat with him for a few minutes, chatting about how each other's year had gone. Reiner had come over to catch up too. That had been nice. Mostly though, Jean just watched people, and events unfolding. He watched, laughing, as Connie and Sasha organised an impromptu best friends competition against Ymir and Christa, the first round being that they had to swap clothes faster than the other couple.

Connie and Sasha had the interesting tactic of stripping each other down in order to actually take the clothes from the other. And that seemed to work for them as they won the first round. And every other round, much to Ymir's disdain, before she declared the whole thing dumb and grabbed Christa round the shoulders, pushing her away from Jean's screeching friends. They did look pretty dumb: Sasha wearing Connie's huge Hawaiian shirt, and Connie in her little skirt, as they chanted and sang their victory song. To be honest, they'd both looked pretty dumb in their original clothes anyway. Jean reminded himself to tell them that they looked better in each other's clothes later.

Despite all the excitement going on in the Springer/Braus corner, Jean felt his eyes constantly moving towards a certain Bodt. Marco had a little group of friends; people Jean had never really spoken to for one reason or another, much like he had never spoken to Marco. He thought he knew a couple of their names. Like the girl who kept grabbing onto Marco's arm and yelling wildly when someone said something funny – Jean was pretty certain her name was Mina. And there was that couple who had been together since anyone could remember. He was pretty sure the guy was called Franz, but couldn't remember the girl's name. Then there was the blond guy who seemed a little sheepish, but nice enough.

They all looked like they were having a lot of fun together, just relaxing and chatting and drinking. Jean took a swig from his own beer. Marco was laughing at something Franz had just said, and even from his distance Jean could see some of his freckles creased into laughter lines. Marco looked like he had a really wonderful laugh, though Jean couldn't hear from where he was sat. The way the brunet would lean his head back slightly, and close his eyes. Jean drank again, deciding to look back to his dumb best friends.

Who were walking straight towards him.

Oh fuck.

Abort, abort.

Jean tried to turn away, but he knew it was too late. The two of them had that look on their faces; that look that meant it was finally time to torture Jean for the rest of the night. Every time they went to a party, they couldn't just leave Jean alone for more than an hour.

“Jeeeeeeaaaaan,” screamed Sasha, swaying on her feet, half-drunkenly, half-dancing to the music coming from a boombox somewhere nearby.

Connie slumped down next to him and threw an arm round his shoulder. Sasha quickly followed suit, landing heavily to his left. Jean found himself sat in a moron sandwich. He sighed heavily.

“Soooooo,” mused Connie. “Who has Jean been stalking this year?”

Every fucking party, Connie and Sasha would play this game.

Sasha put two fingers to Jean's eyes, nearly poking them, and turned them around to see what direction Jean was facing. Jean sighed heavily and rolled his eyes, bored already. Sasha looked to who was in the direction her fingers were pointing, and squealed.

“It's the jerk!” she cried. Connie rolled back laughing.

“The jerk!”

“Don't be so stupid!” replied Jean, blushing furiously. “I'm not _stalking_ Marco!” What a ridiculous idea. He wasn't looking at Marco; how stupid could these two get. He hated Marco, and he definitely hadn't deliberately decided to face him. It was all a misunderstanding. It was an accident, he wasn't stalking Marco on purpose. He wasn't stalking anyone damnit!

“Marco?” asked Sasha, smirking. “I thought his name was the _Jerk_.”

They high-fived over Jean's head. Jean slumped in defeat. He looked over to Marco, who thankfully hadn't noticed the tipsy couple beside him, and saw him lit by the warm light of the fire. His face fell in a content way; like nothing was wrong in the world. Jean's face fell so that he constantly looked angry, and sometimes he wondered whether that had had an effect on his general temperament.

“Jean likes the Jerk!” Connie yelled.

“Jean and the Jerk – get it?!” Jean was pretty sure Sasha was close to peeing herself. “L-Like Beauty and the Beast!”

“Yeah,” agreed Connie. “Except Jean would be the beast.”

They high-fived again, howling with laughter. Jean felt that his temperament was more affected by these two than any other outstanding variable.

“Oh!” said one of them suddenly. Jean didn't even care which one at this point. “Oh oh oh! We should invite the Jerk over here – and we can play a game!”

“Yes!” said the other one. “Which game?”

“Never Have I Ever!”

Jean sat bolt upright. _No_ , he thought. _Not this game. Please, please not this game._

But it was too late. Sasha had stood up and was yelling loud enough for anyone in a fifty mile radius to hear they were about to play the worst drinking game in existence. Jean had neither the experience nor the imagination to play the game in an appropriate way. And whenever he played it with those two he always found out far much more than he wanted to know. He glanced over to Marco and his friends, hoping that if he looked up at them subtly Connie and Sasha wouldn't notice.

Mina was pulling Marco along, and he was laughing happily, as they and the rest of the group came to join the huge circle forming. Sasha ran over to a nearby table and grabbed some embarrassingly fruity drinks with a horrifically high alcohol content for her three friends, which Jean only took because he knew that if he didn't she would cause a scene. Looking around, within thirty seconds of Sasha's announcement, about twenty people had joined them. Jean put his head in his hand. _Oh God._

Marco, Mina and the others joined the circle, and were just about exactly opposite from Jean, who sank further into his hand. As Marco sat down, Connie and Sasha cheered and clapped, crying “The Jerk!”

Jean wanted to cry. Marco looked momentarily confused, but just smiled it off, turning to Mina and looking embarrassed himself at having to play the game.

Connie leapt up. “Ok! Let's start. We all know how to play, right?”

A couple of people yelled “No!” but Connie ignored them.

“Never Have I Ever masturbated in public.”

Jean shook his head. Right off the bat, Connie had started with a sexual statement. It boded ill for the rest of the game. Connie drank to it too, which Jean was pretty sure was cheating, since you were only meant to say things you hadn't done and drink to things you had. It was too early in the game to start with the personal stories that you brought up just to drink to yourself, not that Jean ever had any. Sasha drank as well. Jean couldn't help but take a swift glance across, where he saw Marco tentatively take a sip from his drink.

_What?_

There was clearly more to Marco Bodt than Jean had expected. He wanted to call him out on it, but too many people had apparently drunk to that one to ask for stories.

Connie nudged Jean. It was his turn, being next in the circle.

“Uh,” he faltered. He hated this game. “Never Have I Ever … eaten a whole bag of marshmallows to myself.”

Pretty much everyone “boo'd” and drank to it. Jean laughed at the stupidity of his attempt. He was just relieved it was over.

Sasha was next. And she did not disappoint.

“Never Have I Ever had sex in a public bathroom.”

Connie and Sasha drank in unison. Jean hated being between them during games like this. He snuck a glance across the circle where he noticed Marco didn't drink. He didn't know why he cared. A few other people had drunk too though, so it was apparently still too common to ask questions.

Next to Sasha, Reiner rolled his tongue for a moment, then said, “Never Have I Ever got to second base with someone of the same sex.”

Across from Reiner, Christa threw her hand in the air. “Um, sorry. Can you define your bases?”

Everyone stared at her pretty little face for a moment, caught in the twinkly light of the fire. Then they realised the implications of her question.

Reiner shook his head a little, then gestured, “Second is hands, third is mouths.”

Christa coughed meekly. “Thank you,” she said, then drank. Ymir too, next to her. Though that wasn't an indication of anything; from what they all knew they were only best friends, and maybe they'd just done things with other people? Jean, along with everyone else, forgot they were staring at Christa's worried little face until Ymir began with the evil eyes.

Jean didn't drink, but neither did he fail to notice that both Connie and Sasha did. He wondered when they got up to this stuff, without him. Well, thankfully without him. He was so distracted by the Christa events that he hadn't looked over at Marco. Not that he was keeping tally or anything. And not that he needed to anyway apparently, as Connie leant over secretively and stage whispered in his ear, “The Jerk just drank, dude.”

Jean waved Connie and his alcohol breath away.

“Fuck off, Connie. So did you. What does it matter?” Jean glared at Connie, who just shrugged and turned back to the circle.

Jean took another swig from his drink, not realising someone had just made a Never Have I Ever statement. Everyone turned to look at Jean and laughed.

“What?” he said.

“Jean, you had a sex dream about Hanji?!” cried Sasha, laughing so hard she could barely speak.

“What! No!” Jean spluttered. “No! I was just taking a drink for the sake of taking a drink, I swear!”

Everyone kept laughing. Reiner smirked and said, “It's OK, Jean, I think some of us are lying to ourselves.” He took a drink of his own, and a few other people did too.

Jean felt his ears grow hot, and looked down, smiling in embarrassment. He flicked his eyes up to see Marco laughing lightly too. Jean ruffled his hair and looked up again. “Come on then, who's next?”

A few more people spoke, and Jean drank twice on having to wear a turtleneck to hide a hickey, and using someone else's toothbrush. Then it came to Marco. The boy opposite had drunk a few more times than Jean had, most notably on having swallowed because they were in a public place, and having phone sex. His face was lit in a wonderful way, which made him look far more innocent than he apparently was.

Jean still hated him though, and it was not excitement he felt when he saw that Marco was about to speak, but a gleeful anticipation to see what shit he could come out with. Yeah, that was it.

Marco looked thoughtful for a moment, then slapped the ground next to himself. “Never Have I Ever been caught having sex in school.”

Jean immediately shrank in his seat on the ground. Connie and Sasha looked at each other and burst into the loudest laughter of the night so far. Jean took a meek sip of his drink, which only made the two of them laugh louder. Everyone turned to Jean, and Jean looked up to see Marco looking at him questioningly.

“Jean?” he asked, grinning.

Marco was evil.

“Look,” began Jean. “I-It wasn't my idea. It was her idea, because I'd just come back to the locker room from soccer, and we were the only ones in there because it was a coed one and – ugh.”

“Who caught you though?” asked Armin, giggling.

Jean was pretty sure his face had never been so hot. He rubbed the back of his neck.

“That would be us, good sir,” Connie announced proudly, pointing at Sasha.

“We were going in to find out what had happened to Jean since he was meant to meet us for lunch.”

“Was she your girlfriend or something, Jean?” asked Marco.

“Yeah,” replied Jean. “I guess. Not anymore though.”

“Because those two caught you?” joked Marco.

Jean huffed. “Actually she dumped me because she said my friends were annoying.”

Connie and Sasha stifled chuckles.

“I agreed with her to be honest.”

Connie punched his arm and yelled that it was Mina's turn next. Jean saw Marco smile softly at Jean before his attention turned back to his friend next to him.

They kept playing for a few more rounds, the circle getting smaller and smaller as people buckled under the pressure and left. And each time someone dropped out, Sasha would force everyone to move closer together, to make it “more intimate” in her own words. Eventually, the circle was whittled down to eight people; Jean, Reiner, Marco, Mina, Armin and Bertl, and of course Connie and Sasha, who had decided to sit next to each other after Jean had insulted them one too many times. The group, however, was altered again after Connie and Sasha drank to Reiner's own “Never Have I Ever called a friend up to tell them about bowel movements”, and Reiner and Bertl chickened out.

Sasha aggressively called for the circle to move in tighter, and Jean found himself shoved up against Marco, as they all tried to squeeze into as small a space as possible. Their thighs were pushed up against one another's, and Jean could feel every slight movement Marco made with his leg. His muscles felt taut and toned, and Jean wondered if he must work out. His shoulders were broader than Jean had initially thought too as they jabbed his own shoulders, leading to an awkward turning of heads which found Jean inches away from Marco's face as they tried to figure out the most comfortable position to sit in. They eventually got there after a bit of repositioning, which left Marco nearly leaning on Jean as Jean leant back on his hands, which he rested on the ground behind him.

Jean felt almost paralysed by the situation. He hated Marco, that was what he blamed it on. But that didn't explain the warm feeling he got in his tummy from the close contact, especially when Marco laughed, and he could feel the reverberations of the guy's chesty laugh on his arm and that side of his torso, where his heart was.

Marco said something, and turned to Jean, and their faces were now centimetres away. Jean felt his nose almost brush Marco's. Marco looked at him questioningly.

“S-Sorry,” said Jean, shaking out of his daze. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“I said, Never Have I Ever made out with someone in the woods at night.”

Connie and Sasha drank, Mina too. Marco sighed, and laughed.

“Something I've always wanted to do,” he said.

“Not worth all it's cracked up to be, man,” said Connie. “Twigs everywhere.”

Sasha nodded sagely.

Mina was next. “Never Have I Ever had sex in someone's room that wasn't mine or my partner's.”

Connie and Sasha drank, then looked at each other. “Was it Jean's room?” asked Sasha.

“Yeah!” cried Connie.

“What!” shrieked Jean. “On my bed?!”

“Yeah, where else, dumbass?” asked Sasha.

“Well, I did it on his desk,” Connie offered. Sasha fist bumped him. Jean felt his face screw up. “Relax man, we cleaned up afterwards.”

Jean turned to Sasha, who just shrugged.

His hands curled into fists on the ground. He was so a hundred, a million per cent done with these two. So fucking done. And then suddenly he felt a light touch on one of his hands, just a gentle brush of someone's fingers over a couple of his knuckles, and Jean felt himself calm down almost instantaneously. Not that he had been really mad at his friends; just probably ready to punch someone's arm and maybe their face a little bit.

He turned to look at Marco, whose fingers were still ghosting over his unfurling fist. Marco looked up at him from his slumped position, with his soft eyes and and their long eyelashes. He looked up at Jean like he really wanted him to feel better. Jean was so confused; despite being so cruel to him, Marco still seemed worried about Jean, and he seemed to be actually trying to make him feel better by stroking his hand. Jean struggled to figure out what he wanted to express with his face. He still wanted to hate Marco, but when Marco quickly took his fingers away from Jean's, he felt a horrible lurch deep in his stomach.

Jean looked up again, and forgave his two dumbass friends.

“Let's do something else now,” he said.

Sasha and Connie pouted.

“Jean is a chicken!” Sasha shouted.

“Forfeit!” yelled Connie.

“What's the forfeit?” asked Jean, giving up, just wanting the game to be over.

“Skinnydipping in the lake,” said one of them.

“No,” whispered Jean. “Please, guys. No.”

“We'll harass you into doing it!” said the other.

It was a permanent source of woe in Jean's life that Connie and Sasha knew that they were able to harass Jean into doing things. They pretended that they were just funloving kids, but really they were soulless entities whose key objective was to destroy Jean in any way possible.

“Oh my God,” muttered Jean, as he got up to head over to the lake.

The others cheered and got up to follow him. Jean heard Marco's laugh amongst the rest, and he wasn't sure why he could suddenly hear it louder than everyone else's.

By the time they reached the edge of the lake, they had managed to amass a sort of following. Jean wasn't nearly drunk enough for this. Though, as he was taking his shirt off in front of what seemed like a million people, he realised he was fairly drunk. He wasn't sure what exactly happened, but somehow managed to tangle both arms into the tee's sleeves. Everyone laughed and Jean struggled some more, but only made his situation worse, and made everyone laugh even more. Jean felt his face glow red.

He wriggled and wriggled, but nothing happened. He slipped further and further into a state of utter humiliation, and was about to just give up, when he suddenly felt familiar fingers grasp at his hand and tug at the shirt. Jean felt so lame; this was the second time within the past ten minutes or so that Marco had felt the need to help Jean in his moment of shame. He felt Marco press his hand against Jean's naked stomach to help get some leverage to pull the shirt off completely. His finger tips left hot tingling prints, and Jean tried to stop himself from shivering. Once his shirt was off, Jean found himself uncomfortably close to Marco's face yet again, and had to fight the bizarre urge to get closer somehow.

Marco and Jean looked at each other for a moment before, flustered, they quickly turned away.

“Thanks,” muttered Jean, but Marco didn't seem to hear. He instead appeared to be taking his own shirt off – much more gracefully than Jean had, too. “What are you doing?!”

“Skinnydipping sounds fun!” cried Marco, gesturing to everyone else. “Come on!”

Connie and Sasha immediately whooped and ripped off their clothes, jumping straight in. Most of the others shrugged and stripped to varying degrees before jumping in, until Jean was left by the water's edge on his own, trying to figure out why he was still blushing.

He eventually managed to stop his legs from feeling like jelly, and tugged off his pants, deciding to leave his boxers on. He slipped into the water, and in his slightly fuzzy mind, decided that he could burn some energy by doing laps. He began to swim towards the darkest section, where people couldn't bother him. It was only once he had managed to get about fifty feet away from shore and any other human that Jean realised the lake was too big for laps. He stopped all of a sudden, flapping his limbs and floundering on the surface for a moment, also remembering that he was somewhat intoxicated. He briefly worried whether he would be able to swim back, but then realised he had managed to swim there and was only going to sober up from there on out.

He flipped onto his back and let himself drift lightly, kicking his feet to keep afloat, staring at the stars in the sky.

He drifted like that for a few minutes, before he bumped into a stationary figure. He turned and, of course, there was Marco. For some reason he was on his own, like Jean had been, just staring up at the stars.

“Oh,” said Jean.

“Hey,” replied Marco.

There was an uncomfortable silence between them. Jean hated kicking water for too long, he wasn't very good at it. But Marco seemed to be a pro; probably because of his strong thighs.

“Do you like me yet?” asked Marco, giving Jean a sideways smile. His freckles were less pronounced in the near-darkness of the starry night. The moon was a dim white light reflecting from the surface of the lake, and reflecting in Marco's dark brown eyes.

“No,” said Jean automatically.

“I guess I've got to try a little harder then,” replied Marco, swaying slightly in the water. His broad shoulders were more obvious out in the open, and they were littered with more freckles. His arms looked strong, but weren't too big or overly muscly, they were just right.

Jean blinked, trying to ignore these thoughts, and stared blankly at Marco.

“Why?” he asked.

Marco shrugged. “Because I don't like it when people don't like me. Especially when they don't like me for no reason.”

There was silence again, as Jean struggled to figure out what he wanted to say to Marco.

“OK, well, I guess I'll see you later, Jean.”

He looked as though he was about to say something else, but then left it and just swam away with a small wave, leaving Jean by himself again. The night felt a lot darker without Marco's eyes reflecting the dim light of the moon.

Jean kicked water for a little time longer before deciding to go. He was tired and he had to be up early the next day. He made it to the lakeside and grabbed his clothes, noticing that Marco was still goofing about with his friends. Jean hurried to the cabin, hoping he would be asleep by the time his roommate came back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm determined to get good at writing fluff sO DETERMINED


	3. The Working Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day of counselling actual kids. Real life children lives would be under Jean and Marco's joint responsibility. And, of all states to be in, Jean was hungover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again mega thx to eccoecco for going through this for me and being gr9 in general, and also mega thanks to everyone who gave me kudos and especially to those who commented bc you made my day every single one of you.

Jean should have been expecting it really, but as soon as he lifted his head from the pillow, he was smacked with a whooshing tsunami of nausea and dizziness. Every fucking time. He collapsed back onto his pillow, groaning. He didn't even drink that much! He blamed it on Sasha and Connie, but knew that it was his own body's stupid fault for not being able to handle more than one beer without making the next day an uphill struggle.

“All right there, Jean?” came a chipper voice nearby.

_Fuck off, Marco._

“Yep, totally fine. Just need some toast and juice.”

Jean turned over to look at Marco, who appeared fairly amused at Jean's state. Jean hated those people. Marco definitely drank more than Jean, but there he was, awake and ready to start the day. He was wearing a white t-shirt and light blue pyjama pants and he looked like he had just walked off the set of a fucking cereal commercial he was so bright eyed and cheerful. He still had a bit of bed hair though, which made Jean's tummy do a few flips, though he decided to blame that on alcohol consumption.

Marco blinked and looked down at his watch. _Who sleeps with a watch on?_ Thought Jean to himself. _What a freak._

“We should probably get a move on then. Want to get there before they run out of toast.”

“What? They won't run out of toast. Why would they run out of toast?”

* * *

Jean stared blankly at the buffet table. The only food left was a pathetic amount of soggy looking cornflakes, and some weetabix remains. Marco shrugged and grabbed a bowl, taking the rest of the cornflakes.

“Do you want these?” he asked. “Cornflakes might make you feel better.”

Jean shot him a glare. No they wouldn't.

“OK, I'll just – take these then. And see you later when we get to meet the kids!” Marco smiled brightly and wandered away with his little bowl of cornflakes to where his friends were gathered.

Jean put his hand to his head and tried to control his breathing to steady his unsettled insides. Looking across to the drinks table he saw that the only thing left was water and milk.

_Ugh._

He was just going to have to sip on water until he felt better.

A couple of hours later, stood outside in his bright pink 'CAMP ROSE' polo, Jean felt no better. Under the searing summer sun, he wondered how on earth he had managed to sit so close to a bonfire the night before. He thought back to the night before, how peaceful he had felt by the fire. His mind jumped to a quick memory of watching Marco laughing as the light of the flames had danced prettily across his face. Jean shook his head to expel the image. He was getting sunstroke, he was sure of it.

He suddenly felt a gentle tap on his head.

“Jean, your hair is boiling hot in this sun,” said Marco, in his own tightly fitted pink polo shirt and a stupid dark blue baseball cap, furrowing his lightly freckled brow. “Not a good idea to just stand here if you're still hungover?”

Jean rolled his eyes, and made himself dizzy. He grabbed the fence nearby, thus answering Marco's question.

“Stupid boy,” said Marco, though not harshly, and took his cap off to put on Jean's head. Jean blushed at the thought. “You excited to meet the kids?”

Jean shrugged, the unsettled feeling in his stomach getting even more intense as Marco stood too close to him, arms crossed and lightly brushing Jean's side, and his shoulder just an inch or so above his own. Jean could practically feel wisps of Marco's hair on the back of his own neck. He huffed and slunk down against the fence, waning in the heat, despite the hat.

“Hey,” said Marco. Jean looked up, but Marco didn't look down at him, just stared across at the field they had been told to meet their class in. “Once we've met the kids and taken them to their cabins, we could go to the kitchen and steal some toast for you if you still feel rubbish.”

Jean shifted uncomfortably, turning his gaze and looking across the field too.

“Yeah, maybe,” he said.

“Oi, you two!” came a chirpy voice nearby.

Jean and Marco both turned to see one of the camp admin team leading a small herd of children towards them.

“This is Trost Group, your class for the summer. Trost, say hello to your counsellors.”

Some of the kids muttered a quick hi or hello. They all wore huge backpacks, or were carrying little suitcases, and looked very sheepish in their new setting. Jean smiled as best he could under the circumstances, but he figured his smile probably looked more like a threatening grimace. Marco on the other hand went all out with a huge welcoming grin, and a little hand wave to match. Having Mikasa as his counselling partner usually meant that he was the fun smiley one, and he supposed this was just another thing he was going to have to get used to.

“OK, I'll leave them in your capable hands, boys,” said the woman, heading back towards the forest in order to get back to the HQ building.

Marco waved her off and Jean gave a half-hearted salute in her direction. They turned to the children. Marco began by excitedly introducing himself and reading the health and safety talk off a clipboard he had leant against the fence beforehand. He then began the whole “you can come to me about anything” spiel before turning the attention towards Jean.

“Um, hey kids,” Jean said, pathetically. “My name's Jean, and I'm your other counsellor. Obviously.” He blanked. He completely forgot what else was meant to be said. “Uhhhh, does anyone need any help carrying their bag?”

The children shook their heads.

“OK, shall we take you to your cabins?” asked Marco, looking like he was trying hard not to laugh. Jean shot him a sideways glare. It wasn't his fault he'd left his information packet back at their cabin.

The kids all followed as they led them across the field to the hive of cabins. They passed Connie and Sasha who got all their kids to make monkey noises at Jean and Marco's group. Jean laughed out loud, and a few of his own group laughed with him. Jean thought he noticed Marco looking at him out of the corner of his eye, with that soft expression on his face. Jean felt his ears heat up, but decided to ignore it.

They eventually reached the cabins their group would be using; one for boys, one for girls. In his information pack, Jean remembered that Hanji had scribbled onto it that when it came to the cabins Marco was looking after the boys, and Jean was to take care of the girls. Jean hadn't been too concerned until he remembered that ten to eleven could be a – difficult age for girls. But he decided he'd cross that bridge once he came to it.

They separated at the cabins and Jean showed the girls around their cabin.

“Everything to your taste, ladies?” he asked jokily, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, not exactly sure how to connect with a bunch of ten year olds girls.

A couple of the girls giggled so he assumed that was a good sign.

“Hey!” yelled one suddenly. “I remember you.”

“Oh?” asked Jean. “Well I have been around for ages.”

“Yeah! You and Mikasa, right?” This little girl seemed quite petulant. She was fairly tall for her age, and had a strong nose with a sprinkle of freckles all over her face; her mouse brown hair was tied back in a plain ponytail. “You were together? What happened?”

Jean blushed slightly. “Ah,” he said, faltering slightly. “We were never together. We just worked together as a counselling team.”

“That's what I meant,” said the petulant girl. Jean's blush deepened.

“Oh,” he said. “Ha ha.”

“But what happened?” asked the girl. Other girls around her had chosen their beds and were sat patiently on them, looking intently at Jean for a reply.

“Oh, well, she couldn't make it this year.”

“That sucks!” cried the girl. “So now we have you instead?”

Jean nodded. The girl turned on her heel and stalked over to an empty bed. One of the other girls flopped back on her own bed.

“I was really looking forward to having Mikasa,” she sighed.

“Yeah, she was so cool,” agreed another girl opposite.

Jean internally groaned. _What is happening?_

“Aren't you sad she's gone, Jean?” asked the first girl, who was slowly unpacking her stuff into the chest of drawers at the end of the room. “Didn't you like her?”

“Y-Yeah, I am sad she's gone, but h- why did you think I liked her?” Jean was completely out of his comfort zone at this point. He was floating high, high above the comfort zone, gliding onwards towards distress o'clock.

“Because,” the girl swung around, “it was obvious.”

“I-It was?”

The girls all nodded.

“Well, shoot,” said Jean, sitting down heavily on the closest empty bed, using his first euphemism of the day. Every fucking year he had to reign back the swears and it got harder and harder each time to do.

“What about Marco though?” piped up one of the girls.

“Huh?” Jean whipped his head around. What was she suggesting?

“Is he a good counselling partner?”

“Oh.” Jean sat back, embarrassed that he had immediately jumped to – a different conclusion. “He's OK, I guess? Give me a break guys, how am I meant to know after counselling with him for less than an hour?”

The girls laughed, and Jean smiled, hoping they were warming up to him.

“He's kind of cute,” said one.

“Shut up, Rebekah,” said another. “He's like eighteen.”

Jean huffed a laugh, finding it hard to remember how old eighteen must have felt like at age ten. There was a soft knock at the door.

“Hello?” came Marco's voice from the other side.

“Come in!” screeched the petulant girl.

Marco came in and greeted the girls, then looked to Jean.

“Hey, did you want to – go … do that super secret mission that we talked about earlier?” Marco looked around at the girls, clearly a little worried about telling them what this super secret mission was.

Jean furrowed his brow. “Super secret … what? Oh! The toast?”

Marco nodded.

“Oh, no, it's OK. I'm feeling a lot better now.”

“Oh. OK then. Just thought I'd come check,” Marco ducked his head to leave. “Meet you outside in a bit?”

“Yeah, sure,” mumbled Jean.

Marco left and all the girls clamoured around Jean.

“Super secret mission?”

“Toast?”

“Don't you agree that Marco's cute though, Jean?”

Jean put a melodramatic hand to his forehead and waved them away.

“You're too loud,” he said dramatically. “I'm meant to leave you now to unpack and get settled. We'll come back in a bit once you've got your camp clothes on. Then you can match me. We're bright pink this year.”

A couple of girls wooped, and a few boo'd.

Jean grinned. “See you later, guys.”

“Bye, Jean!” rang a chorus of litle voices as he left.

Outside Marco was kicking rocks about the cabinyard. His face brightened as he saw Jean exit, and Jean was almost embarrassed for him. Marco gestured and led him over to a picnic table nearby.

They sat at the table and Jean tweaked his baseball cap, hoping his nose wouldn't get burnt under the hot summer sun. Marco lay on the table, resting his head on his arms, and Jean leant across from him, head on hand, elbow on table. They dozed for a few minutes in the heat.

“Marco,” said Jean. “When do we go get them?”

Marco gave a non-committal shrug.

“Half hour?” he said, lifting his head slightly. His eyes peeked out just above his forearms, bright and brown, a few freckles dotting around his eyebrows.

“Hm,” agreed Jean, still warm and sleepy.

”What are the girls like then?” asked Marco, stretching his arms up, and perching his chin on his hand, almost mirroring Jean.

Jean shrugged. “They're OK, I guess.”

Marco smiled softly. “You feeling better then? Even without the toast?”

“Urgh,” Jean collapsed onto his arms. “Marco, don't talk to me about the toast.”

Marco huffed quietly and Jean felt the bench go down on his side as the freckled boy upped and left. Jean wasn't too concerned however, as it was comfortably warm lying on his hands and half-sleeping. At least his tummy didn't feel like a swirling vortex if he was laying down.

What felt like an age later, but could only have been ten minutes, Jean felt his side of the bench go up as someone sat opposite. He looked up and saw Marco holding out hot buttered toast in a napkin. Jean's heart melted at the sight of the freckled face, though barely visible with the sun shining brightly behind his head, with the smell of the butter melting into the toast.

“Oh,” he said, taking the slices from Marco. “Thank you.” He felt pathetic, not knowing what else to say.

“No problem,” replied Marco, grinning. “Although if anyone asks, I was with you here this whole time. You're my alibi.”

“Sure,” said Jean, stuffing his face with the perfectly done toast. Of course Marco would do it perfectly, just the right amount of outside crunchiness to inside fluffiness. He glared from under his cap.

“We should go get the kids once you're finished,” said Marco, looking over to the cabins where a few screeches could be heard. “I think they need to release some energy.”

Jean licked his buttery fingers, and let his head rest on the table again. “Just give me five more minutes,” he said, having enjoyed his nap time, and wanting to give the toast some time to work its hangover-reducing magic.

“Fine!” said Marco, drumming his fingers on the table. “But just five minutes. And then you have to get up.”

“Mhm,” mumbled Jean happily, drifting into a comfortable sleep.

* * *

Jean awoke suddenly to the sound of what must have been about a thousand children screaming in his ear. He shot up in shock and watched Marco do the exact same opposite him.

“Shit!” yelled Jean, reacting to the group of children surrounding them. They blinked at his language. “-Ake Mushrooms.”

That was a close one.

Marco's eyes looked heavy and sleep-worn. “Wuh?” he asked unintelligibly, then seemed to blink out of it. “Oh man, hey guys. How long were we asleep for?”

One of the boys looked at his little watch and said, “I think you were meant to come for us ten minutes ago.”

Jean dragged a sleepy hand down his face and Marco rubbed his temple.

“That's not too bad then. Thanks for waking us,” he said.

“You looked really cute,” said one of the girls. “But your face and Jean's face was really close together. Did you mean to sleep like that?”

It was that petulant girl again. Jean narrowed his eyes. “What's your name?” he asked, vowing that that name would be top of his hit list one day.

“Ellie,” she said, sticking her tongue out.

_One day I will get you, Ellie._

“You guys all dressed and ready for a hike then?” asked Marco as Jean glared at Ellie, who just smirked back.

The kids agreed, and looking around Jean was bombarded with bright pink. He was glad he no longer had a hangover because he wasn't sure he would have been prepared for that assault on his eyes otherwise.

* * *

An hour later Marco and Jean were leading the troupe of kids through one of the forest trails to the picnic site where they'd eat lunch and play some introduction games. Marco was following the map to the site, which Jean was a bit miffed about. Usually it was he who would get to show off his incredible map reading expertise – but then again he figured there wasn't really anyone he wanted to show off to without Mikasa there, so he put up with Marco's inferior skill.

As they walked along the well trod path, the dappled sunlight sprinkled flashes of yellow and orange on the woods around them, occasionally stabbing Jean in the eye with its brightness and causing him to wince, which of course would make Marco chuckle. Jean huffed and shifted his rucksack slightly, hoping he didn't crush any sandwiches in the process. He could hear the kids nattering behind them, some jumping and running about.

Jean knew that according to the info pack they had been given they were meant to look back and count the kids on a regular basis. They were also meant to tell them to keep on the path and not to jump on trees and the like, but, having been a camp goer himself, Jean knew that that would be no fun. So he settled for just counting them every now and then and hoping that Ellie wouldn't be there.

The childrens' loud chatter and occasional screaming emphasised how little he and Marco were talking, and in Jean's mind, it stressed just how much time he was going to have to spend with Marco for the next month and a half. He supposed, sure, he never really spoke to Mikasa either. Or – well, she never spoke to him. He would obviously speak to her. Quite a lot really.

_“Hey Mikasa, you smell nice today.”_

_“I haven't showered in a week.”_

_“Must be your sweat then. Your sweat smells really – really good … ?”_

Jean glared and grumbled crossly, trying to eradicate such memories from his head.

Marco poked his cheek.

“Why do you suddenly look so mad?”

Jean shrugged. “No reason,” he replied, hoping Marco would just stop trying with this whole making Jean like him thing. Because it wasn't working. And never would. “My face just falls like that.”

“Nah, your face falls more like this.” Marco grimaced. “But you were pulling this face just then.” Marco sank further into the grimace, almost gurning.

Jean laughed despite himself. “More like this, I think,” he said, pulling a face of his own. Marco laughed, and Jean got chills this time, because Marco was laughing at his joke. Marco was laughing at something Jean had wanted him to laugh at, rather than his own misfortunes. And he was right before, back when he had been watching Marco at the bonfire. Marco's laugh was beautiful, he tilted his head, exposing his neck slightly, and closed his eyes. As they walked, the dots of sunlight made patterns on his face.

Jean blushed and turned forward again, at first glaring, then realising that would probably just prompt Marco to question him further, so tried to settle his face in a neutral place. He wasn't sure if he achieved it, but at least Marco didn't ask him anything more, just quietly left him to it.

They managed to make it to the field with all children accounted for, including, unfortunately, Ellie. Jean dropped his rucksack onto the grassy floor and stretched. Marco swivelled his rucksack around and carefully put the map in the front. He then placed it gently on the floor before turning to the expectant children.

“OK, who wants food!”

Jean and Marco were suddenly swarmed.

After the pack of small animal children had had their fill of sandwiches and cartons of juice, they were gathered into a small circle to start playing getting to know you games. Hanji always told the counsellors that these were perfect testing conditions to find out how to deal with each child; how they tick, what motivates them, who was likely to act out, who was likely to keep quiet. And Jean could tell that Marco was the sort of person who took that sort of responsibility to heart, and would utilise this opportunity to figure out how to deal with the kids that way.

Jean watched Marco as he began the games.

“So, does anyone have any ideas of stuff to play?” the boy asked, smiling around at the ten children. Jean blinked. According to Hanji you should _always_ start with the name-move-repeat game, where the child says their name while doing a little dance move or gesture, then gets everyone to repeat. Her reasoning was that it meant you could straight away find out who were the followers and the leaders, and who were the loud ones and who were the quiet ones. But Marco hadn't started with that. He had started by asking the kids.

Some of the children put their hands up.

“Can we play _Never Have I Ever_!” cried out one boy.

Jean spluttered. “What!” he cried.

“You have to say something you've never done, then people who have done it have to stand up and swap seats.”

Jean and Marco looked at each other. Marco had pursed his lips in amusement and was trying hard not to laugh. Jean flushed bright red, but felt himself biting back a smile, as the memories of the night before and the terrible things some people had come out with came rushing back.

“S-Sure,” said Marco. “Let's play Never Have I Ever.”

Jean bit his lip to stop the smirk that was creeping onto his face. He didn't know why he found it so funny, but he could tell Marco was holding back laughter too, from the way his voice shook ever so slightly when he spoke.

“Would you like to start?” Jean asked the boy.

“Uh,” said the boy. “Never Have I Ever slept in my friend's room, without my friend being there.”

Jean felt his fist curl as he tried to keep a straight face, remembering Marco's 'Never Have I Ever' from last night. Beside him Marco was having trouble too, as he pursed his lips even more and fiddled with his hands, nodding restrainedly.

A couple of kids walked up and swapped seats, high-fiving as they did so.

Jean immediately decided they were a young Connie and Sasha, and would probably refer to them as that from then on.

Marco's chest was starting to do small bumps, as he began to fail to keep the laughter in.

“OK,” he breathed. “Next in the circle. Who's turn is it?”

Ellie put her hand up, and began to speak. “Never Have I Ever had a crush on Mrs. Hanji.”

Jean nearly lost it then, as he recalled how he had accidentally drank to a certain similar one, but covered it up as a cough. He and Marco watched patiently as a few of the kids traded places.

Next in the circle was some little girl who was struggling to think of a thing to say. After a few moments, and Ellie elbowing her in the ribs, she finally said, “Never Have I Ever eaten a whole bag of marshmallows to myself!”

Marco clearly couldn't contain himself any longer and began to howl with laughter, as Jean covered his face with his hands, trying to hide the muffled chokes of his own laughter, the embarrassment of his terribly lame 'Never Have I Ever' attempt slapping him in the face. The children all looked at them in utter confusion. The little girl who had said it looked like she was about to cry.

“N-No,” Jean began, trying to assure the kid they weren't laughing at her, but every time he tried to speak, he heard Marco begin laughing again, and he couldn't make it. There were a few worried sounding giggles coming from the children, and after a few minutes Marco and Jean managed to calm themselves down. Jean could see Marco wiping tears from his eyes as he breathed out heavily, a last few chuckles escaping.

Jean closed his eyes, his cheeks burning from smiling so much, and started again.

“No, I'm really sorry, we were just laughing at an inside joke.”

“Yeah, don't worry,” added Marco. “We were just remembering how much of a loser Jean is.”

Jean glared, but it was playful. Marco poked his tongue out at him. The kids all laughed, and Jean was thankful for Marco's tact in saving them from upsetting a ten year old girl.

Marco suggested they play a different game then, and they continued playing fun little games until everyone had a good idea who each other person was and a stupidly long list of things about them, such as their favourite animal, colour, dance move, along with many more.

On their way back through the forest trail, Marco poked Jean's cheek again.

“What are you so happy about?” he asked. Jean realised he had been grinning to himself for a while now.

He shrugged, but didn't let his face fall. He was too content to stop smiling. “I just forgot how much I love camp,” he suggested.

Marco smiled in return, and they carried on walking.

* * *

Once the kids had had their tea, and gone to their cabins for the night, Marco and Jean headed over to the canteen to get their evening meal. Pretty much as soon as they were inside they split away from each other. Jean felt as though he should have given Marco a parting smile, or at least nod, but he was so mad at himself for being so chummy with Marco all day he blanked him completely. Even though the freckled boy did a cute little wave and said, “See you at the cabin later, Jean.”

Having grabbed some food, Jean stalked over to his usual table with Connie and Sasha, who looked tired but pleased.

“What's wrong with you?” asked Sasha, nudging Jean as he sat down.

“Nothing,” he said, shooting her a glare which he hoped read: _do not ask me any more questions._

Sasha shrugged, clearly too drained by the day to persevere with her aggravating.

After a few minutes of the counsellors sleepily chewing on food, and looking forward to a good night's sleep, Hanji, Levi and Ian, the three who ran the whole camp, appeared at the doors to the canteen.

“Counsellors!” cried the ringleader, her loud voice echoing around the room. “It is time to announce what the competition this year is.”

There were a few muted cheers, but not as much enthusiasm as Hanji had clearly been expecting.

“As per, you've all been split into two teams. Half of you are in Team Titan, and half of you are in Team Warrior.”

Jean rolled his eyes at the ridiculous names. They were always so over the top. He dreaded to think what Hanji was going to make him and Marco do. Last year with Mikasa, they'd had to choreograph a three-minute dance routine, and the year before they'd had to complete a stupid obstacle course.

“Basically,” continued Hanji, “in your counselling pair you are to complete a task I give you, and you must complete it to a higher standard than the pair with the same task on the other team. Levi, Ian and I shall judge who is the winner. The team lists will be pinned up – uh,” she looked pointedly at Levi, who rolled his eyes and unfolded a piece of paper from his hand, “now!” He pinned the paper to the corkboard next to the door. “Good luck, teams!”

Hanji saluted and left with her entourage.

Jean sighed heavily, and wondered yet again why Hanji put the counsellors through this humiliation. Even Connie and Sasha found it a bit much, thinking back to that one year when they had had to find a needle in a haystack quicker than their opposing couple of Annie and Armin. Sasha nearly broke an arm in her haste, and Armin was nearly blinded by a surprise needle. It had been a bad year. But Hanji still persisted in her stupid traditions. She usually claimed that the counsellor contest was so that the counsellors didn't feel like they were missing out on all the fun, just because they had more responsibility. But sometimes Jean thought it was just because she had a list of sadistic things she wanted to see people attempt.

He watched as Marco wandered over to the sheet, which meant Jean didn't have to check for himself. Thank God.

* * *

He waited until they were both tucked in bed back at the cabin and about to go to sleep to ask Marco what their task was.

“Oh,” said Marco, yawning. “We have to come up with a handshake together.”

“Huh,” replied Jean. “That's not too bad.”

“Yeah, once I had to strip down to my boxers and mud wrestle against Reiner, while Mina wrestled Ymir. _That_ was a challenging year.”

“Mmph,” agreed Jean, lowering his head below the covers on his bed, trying hard to get the image of Marco, half naked, slick with mud, laughing that perfect laugh, wrestling Reiner to the ground, out of his goddamn mind.

“G'night, Jean.”

“Guhaght,” replied Jean, his words muffled by the covers, hiding the spreading blush. He turned over, facing the wall, and willed himself to go to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was so hard to write guh i'm awfully awfully sorry it's so long, if you felt it was too long please tell me and i might split it up to make it easier to digest. and i'll also make sure none of the other chapters are this long. D:


	4. Same Old Labels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jean forgets what the word "hate" means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the terrible delay here guys, i moved back into uni and i was struggling hopelessly with this chapter as my perfect editor (LittleSpoon, who was formerly referred to as eccoecco) can tell you.

It was a hot day and Jean was tired. So fucking tired. He forgot how exhausting kids were. They were funny and clever and came out with cute things, but they were such headache makers. Constant noise, constant rebellion, constant need for attention. For the past week the only times of the day Jean felt like he could get any peace was back at the cabin. Jean shook a hand through his hair, trying to air it out somewhat in a vain attempt to get cooler. They were traipsing through the forest to the day's destination at the archery range. He shifted his backpack uncomfortably, feeling the sweat on his back underneath. He shuddered involuntarily and grumbled a few choice curse words under his breath.

Looking ahead to Marco, he could see that the boy must also have been hot and annoyed as there was a light outline of sweat on his t-shirt around the backpack, and he kept having to wipe his hands on his pants. But unlike Jean he was still on speaking terms with the kids, chatting away with some of the keeno boys and girls who had stormed ahead to be at the front. Jean crossly wondered how he managed to stay so chilled out with the children when they would just constantly harass the two counsellors. Jean had noticed that a few of them kept trying to start a conversation with him, but he refused to partake, just nodding and mumbling the bare minimum of a response.

Jean was more focused on glaring at the back of Marco's neck, where his dark brown hair made an upside triangle. It was quite soothing, watching the soft movement of the boy's muscles stretch and shift in a steady rhythm as they went along. A few beads of sweat had made their way from Marco's hair, but Jean didn't find himself disgusted by it, partially he supposed because of his own hot and bothered state, but it was more than that. Jean found it maddeningly endearing. Especially when Marco bent slightly in annoyance, and rubbed the back of his neck with a strong hand, softly muttering, “Ugh,” to himself.

Jean snapped back to reality, realising one of the girls, Lea, had been trying to talk to him for some time now.

“When will we get to go again? It was so much fun,” she said, clearly rounding off a little one-sided conversation she'd just been aiming in Jean's direction.

“S-Sorry,” said Jean, averting his gaze from Marco's back. “Sorry, when will we get to go where again?”

“Swimming,” said Lea impatiently, putting her hands on her hips. “Jean, were you listening at all?”

Jean processed her words slowly, his mind sluggish in the heat and his own confusion as to its betrayal in staring at Marco. He thought back to their swimming day. It had been their first full day of the camp, a week ago. It didn't feel like a week though; in some respects it felt like a year, packing so much stuff into all the days, but in other respects it felt like an hour ago, because ultimately Jean hadn't felt like he was doing lots of things. He felt more as though he had just been focused on trying to hate Marco. And apparently focusing on this hatred required a lot of staring at the boy.

He was still trying to figure Marco out. Jean was pretty sure he was the only person in the world who couldn't do it. Everyone else seemed to have their own idea of what Marco was like, but Jean just didn't get it. Freckles got embarrassed pretty quickly, but he wasn't quiet. He yelled a lot, and asked so many fucking questions, especially when he was confused. It was kind of obnoxious if Jean was honest. Marco was straightforward, but somehow kind too. He would say things to the kids, and if anyone else had said them it would have resulted in tears. But when Marco said them, for some reason, the children took his words on board and Jean was pretty sure they were better people for it.

Marco was also really physically capable, as Jean had noticed during the climbing session, watching Marco's long arms pull him up the wall, carefully yet swiftly. But he seemed to find true joy in the more fiddly activities, the ones that required not just hands on participation, but eager fingers to take apart and put together and observe and collect. Jean didn't like to admit it, but he had got a warm fuzzy feeling in his tummy during the metalwork class, as he sat there and watched Marco's eyes light up while he took apart a clock and put it back together. The kids had been drawn to his enthusiasm too and wanted Marco to teach them all how to do it properly, while Jean sat with the metalwork instructor and she tried to talk to Jean about football or something. He didn't really care though.

They had been doing fencing, dancing, improv, cooking, painting, and every time Jean had found his eyes straying towards Marco's direction. It was just because he was waiting for the boy to trip up or do something stupid, that was what he told himself. But occasionally, he would look over and see that Marco had been staring at him too. Or maybe not staring. Maybe they just caught each others' eyes by accident. But still, Jean thought, he had that soft look in his face, as though he was trying to figure Jean out too.

Jean had been looking forward to today; he was really good at archery, having been dragged along to various sessions throughout the year by Sasha since they were five. He had no idea whether Marco would be good or not – he was kind of hoping not, so he could laugh at him. Jean didn't care how immature that was, he just really wanted to get Marco back for being so – so confusing.

“Jean!” yelled Lea. Jean shook his head and realised he had stopped walking altogether, lost in thought. A few tiny people toppled into the back of him, laughing it off in confusion. Jean wiped a hand over his face.

“Ugh,” he said.

Suddenly in front of them, one of the kids Jean was meant to be watching out for tripped over a tree root whilst running, and, almost as though in slow motion, Jean watched the boy fall to the ground with a nasty crunch and scratch.

Jean was immobile for a moment, never having had an injured child in his group before. He wasn't quite sure how to deal with it. But Marco had already turned around and was rushing towards the kid, his backpack pulled off around him, and hands reaching inside for a first aid kit. Jean stumbled over towards them too.

“Hey, hey,” said Marco softly to the boy. “OK, can you sit up?”

The boy sniffed and nodded from his place on the ground. He shifted about with the help of Marco and managed to get into a more comfortable upright position.

“OK, let's have a look at the damage then.” Marco smiled comfortingly, and Jean watched, mouth slightly agape. He wished he could do something while his fellow counsellor began to wash away the boy's wound and check for broken bones. The other kids were starting to surround them, so Jean decided he could help by trying to get them out of the way.

“Come on, guys,” he said, shooing them just past Marco and his patient. “Don't overwhelm the kid; just let Marco help him up again, yeah?”

The kids muttered amongst themselves. Jean sat on a fallen tree trunk and watched Marco. His brow was slightly furrowed, as though he was concentrating very hard, and his fingers were working quickly, pulling the bandages from their packet and swaddling the boy's knee. Jean suddenly realised one of the girls was looking at him very closely, as he held his intense gaze on Marco. He looked down to see who had spotted him staring, and to his horror found out it was Ellie. She smirked and turned away to whisper something hushed to Lea next to her. Jean blushed and looked decidedly away, into the green of the trees and the forest. Birds were whistling at each other and he could hear the occasional shuffling whisper of a small animal running about in the undergrowth.

The chatter of the kids started up again as Jean figured that the boy was back on his feet, and they started to move. When he turned back around, he saw Marco staring at him, still sat where he had been when he was bandaging up the boy. Marco blushed slightly, and hurriedly began to pack the first aid kit back into his backpack.

“C'mon Jean,” he said quickly as he swept past, and Jean could see that he was slightly flushed. “Don't want to be late for Jurgen.”

* * *

Their archery instructor was Jurgen, who was nice, but kind of boring. Jean didn't mind much though, as he and Marco sat at the back of the group while Jurgen explained the basics to the kids. There were eleven bosses, twenty kids, and Jean and Marco. That meant Jean and Marco would be able to shoot too, and this was something Jean would forever love about the camp he worked at; the amount of shit he was able to do whilst there. He complained to hell about the experience every year, but he never felt like he was wasting his summer.

Well, until he found himself more distracted by a certain freckled idiot.

As Jurgen kept talking and talking – like, really, was there that much to go over? – Jean nudged Marco.

“Wanna come set up some of the bosses and stuff?”

Marco looked slightly panicked for a second.

“Uh,” he faltered. “Yeah, sure. I don't really – know what I'm doing though.”

“How long have you been coming to the camp?”

“Ha, I guess a few years.”

“And you don't know how to put up a boss?”

“Jean, I'm not even entirely sure what a boss is.”

Jean shook his head in disbelief, opened his mouth, then shook his head again. Marco shrugged, goofy smile in place. It was hard to believe that this was the guy who had saved a small child just half an hour ago. He gestured to lead Marco to the station where all the equipment was kept. It took a moment as their eyes adjusted in the dim light of what was essentially a glorified cupboard. It didn't take Jean much longer before he realised how cramped it was and how close he was to Marco.

Marco's breath was on his shoulder, and dangerously close to his neck. He felt an involuntary shudder as it brushed by him. Jean coughed slightly, hoping his face hadn't flushed, though he could feel his ears heating up. He gestured to the big straw circles propped up in the corner.

“There,” he said. “Those are the bosses. To put the targets on.”

“Oh,” said Marco, his voice considerably quieter in the room, as though he felt the need to be hushed in such a dark, closed-off space. All it was really doing though was making Jean shiver more as he felt Marco's words blow over his neck and shoulder. “I thought that was what they were, but I didn't want to just assume, in case I sounded stupid.”

“You always sound stupid.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem. You gonna help me take 'em through then?”

He turned round slightly to see Marco smile. “Sure.”

They had “fun” attempting to roll the bosses out from the small space and through the door. More than once, Jean found himself trapped in fairly uncomfortable positions behind the heavy blocks. More than once, Marco and Jean had somehow managed to tangle themselves together as a boss fell over onto them, squashing them into each other between the fallen boss and another propped-up one. The most humiliating moment had been when Jean had been trying to roll one out, but when he turned it to spin towards the door, Marco had suddenly turned round from behind Jean, and spoken right into his ear, asking him how many they needed. The sudden shock of Marco's lips nearly touching Jean caused him to drop the spinning boss. It heaved into Jean, eliciting a loud grunt as he knocked into Marco, who spun round and managed to pin Jean to the boss behind them, his knee between Jean's legs.

They breathed heavily, crushed against each other, chests together and legs tangled. Marco's forehead had bumped Jean's, not too hard to be painful, but Jean's issue lied in that it meant their cheeks were now touching as Marco bit his lip in frustration.

“Sorry,” breathed Jean. “I don't know what happened.”

Marco groaned slightly as he used his back to push the boss off from behind him, freeing Jean.

“It's OK, I've dropped them a few times too.”

Jean laughed shakily and nodded, rubbing the back of his head as Marco stretched his arms out from around Jean and untangled his leg. Jean stood still for a moment, not sure how to process what had just happened. Marco brushed himself off and propped the now fallen boss up from the floor and began to wheel it out of the door, blushing to himself a bit, though not quite as flustered as Jean who sank to the floor on his unsteady legs as soon as Marco had left the room.

After about a quarter of an hour later they had finally managed to get all the bosses in place, and on stands, with paper targets attached. Jurgen had just finished his talk with the kids, who were all looking thoroughly bored, and itching to get started. Jurgen had instructed them on where to get their bows, and after another ten minutes of the children rushing into the station and then another ten as Jean and Jurgen helped them all set them up, while Marco loitered around the sides of the group, with encouraging words such as, “Um, I'm not sure – I'll ask Jean,” and “It looks right to me?”

Ten of the bosses were for two kids to use each, and the last one on the end was for Marco and Jean if they could spare some time between helping the children out and making sure they weren't being too rowdy with actual real-life weapons. Thankfully, their bunch was pretty well behaved and apart from the odd little spat between a couple of them (it involved Ellie – _of course_ , thought Jean) Jean and Marco weren't really needed at all, which meant they had plenty of time to shoot for themselves.

Jean went up first and, being a little rusty, managed to at least hit the target with all three arrows he had been given, but it wasn't a particularly good score overall. He was grinning though, remembering how much he enjoyed the feeling of pulling back the string and letting it go. He passed the bow onto Marco, who fumbled with his arrows for a moment, before looking around nervously.

“Are you sure there aren't any kids who need some help or supervision or something?” he asked, laughing slightly.

“Oh, just shoot the arrows, Bodt. Look, the kids are fine,” replied Jean, crossing his arms and leaning against a nearby stand.

Marco pulled a face and headed up to the standing line. Jean watched, more eagerly than he would admit, as Marco raised the bow, flashing a brief glimpse of his skin from beneath his pink polo shirt, clipped in the arrow (it took him a few times though), and pulled back the string. His shoulder blades made a striking indent in his shirt, and Jean felt his breath hitch slightly in the back of his throat as he thought about how quite beautiful Marco looked like that.

Until Marco let go of the string and his arrow flew right over the top of the boss and into the wall behind.

Jean burst into laughter.

“Don't laugh at me! I don't know what I'm doing!” cried Marco.

Jean bit back, sucking in his laughter, though the occasional giggle still escaped as he watched Marco prepare his next arrow.

The next arrow was worse than the first, and some of the children even turned round to laugh at Marco this time. Marco flushed bright pink, his freckles standing out. Jean tried to stop laughing, but he just couldn't. Marco was smiling in embarrassment, shaking his head and rubbing his neck.

But Jean could tell how uncomfortable he was, and suddenly felt a warm rush of sympathy towards the boy, as though he needed to protect him.

“Sorry,” he said, hiccouphing a little. “Sorry, here. Let me show you how to do it, yeah?”

Marco gave him a small smile.

“Ha, yeah, probably for the best.”

He was about to hand over the bow, but Jean told him to stay in position instead. He wanted to see what Marco was doing wrong.

Marco held the bow up as he would if he were actually going to shoot an arrow, but without the arrow in the string. Jean circled him a couple of times, looking closely at his position.

Marco looked quite worried by the time Jean yelled, “Oh!”

Jean picked up Marco's last arrow, and handed it over to him. Marco clipped it in, waiting for further instruction. By this time, most of the children had shot all their arrows, and were now watching intently on Marco's performance.

Jean found Marco's discomfort quite satisfying, feeling the boy had had it too easy for far too long. It was almost like payback for Marco just being an all round good guy who was able to sail through life by being kind and helpful.

“So, what do I need to do?” asked Marco, wavering a little.

“You need to anchor the string, at your mouth,” replied Jean, enjoying the feeling of power and knowledge. “It's just a small thing, but it makes a big difference.”

“Oh,” said Marco brightly. “That's not too hard then.”

He put the string to his mouth, but Jean wasn't quite happy with where it was.

“No, wait, more to the left.” Marco tried. “No, my left. No, a little less. Marco, no, the other left. Marco, you're just – agh, stop. Just stop.”

“What?” asked Marco, laughing as he brushed the string all over his face, mocking Jean's pedantic pleas.

Jean grumbled, and headed to the other side of Marco, whose face suddenly fell, as Jean walked up behind him.

“What?” asked Marco, more seriously now and with a hint of concern.

“Just, stay still for a moment,” said Jean as he lined himself up behind Marco, pressing his chest to Marco's back, feeling the boy's muscles tense up. He laid his right arm over Marco's right arm, ghosting his hand over Marco's, which was now shakily gripping the bowstring. Jean leant his face over Marco's shoulder, his cheek gently brushing against his neck, and took Marco's fingers, moving them to where he wanted them on Marco's face, just on his lip. His fingers brushed Marco's slightly open mouth, and time began to go very slowly as Jean felt Marco's warm breath hitch then blow out, tickling his fingertips. As he pulled away, Jean noticed himself unconsciously pat Marco's hand affectionately.

Marco was blushing hard. Jean was blushing hard. He hid his face as Marco quickly shot an arrow, and it scored higher than any of Jean's arrows had done.

The children all cheered, but Marco just gingerly placed the bow on the ground as soon as he was done and walked away.

“M-Marco?” asked Jurgen as the boy walked away.

“I just need a minute,” he said shakily, not turning his head, and nearly collapsing as one of his legs almost gave way under him. Jean would have laughed at the odd behaviour if he didn't feel so strange himself. He let Marco walk away to the woods for a moment, and he tried to shake himself of the feeling as he set about helping the kids for a few more rounds. After a while Marco came back and was his normal self again, but there was something about him that made Jean think he might have gone to cry. He didn't question it however, and they carried on the rest of the day doing archery as normal, maybe with a little less eye contact and fewer jokes than usual.

* * *

Jean walked to the canteen by himself that evening, as Marco had to go fill in a form about using first aid on one of the kids, and had assured Jean that it was OK and that he could do it by himself. Jean had shrugged and said, “sure,” but it felt strange walking in the darkening light through the trees by himself.

Inside he met with Connie and Sasha, as per. They were discussing the attractiveness levels of the counsellors they hadn't seen before. Sasha had decided that Samuel was pretty hot, but Connie seemed determined to disagree with her on that. Jean shrugged when asked for his opinion, and instead focused on his pasta, being tired and hungry and for some reason more interested in checking the door every few seconds. But no one came through; no one Jean was looking for anyway.

As he was putting his plate on one of the dirty dish racks, one of Marco's friends came up to him. Mina, he thought she was.

“Uh, hey, Jean,” she said.

“Yes?”

“Sorry to disturb you, but do you know where Marco is?”

Jean scratched his face. “I don't to be honest. He went to go fill in a form, and said he'd come to get food straight after, but – he's not here, so … I'm not sure.”

“Oh right, OK,” she replied. “I'm sure it's no big deal. Tell him I said hi.”

“Um, sure.”

On his way back to the cabin, Jean intentionally made sure he was walking apart from any of the other groups. Sasha and Connie were still bickering shortly ahead of him, and Jean just wasn't interested in the slightest. He never was in their stupid arguments. The one time he let himself get involved had been the first time he got a migraine, and he never wanted a repeat of that day.

Traipsing up the stairs to his cabin, his friends yelled, “G'night, Jean!” and he waved halfheartedly in response. Inside the cabin was dark, and smelt like clean sheets. Jean furrowed his brow, confused.

He flicked on the light switch and saw Marco, still in all his clothes, asleep on his bed, over the covers. He was snoring softly, except it wasn't really snoring, just breathing deeply. His mouth was hanging open slightly, and he was turned on his side, one leg stretched out and the other curled up. Jean's heart fluttered at the sight. He shook his head, and headed over to the sleeping boy.

“Hey,” he whispered loudly. “Wake up, you missed dinner. Oi!”

Marco slowly woke up, rubbing his eyes and turning round towards Jean lethargically.

“Oh,” he said. “Oh shoot.”

“What are you doing?” asked Jean.

“I went to the main cabin to fill out the form, and-” he yawned midway through the sentence “-and I thought I might as well go get clean sheets while I was there, and then I came back, did our bedsheets, then I – I must've fallen asleep. I missed dinner?”

“Yeah, man. Levi's famous pasta.”

Marco groaned and buried his face in his hands.

Jean felt bad; maybe he should've brought some bread back or something. He assumed Marco must have eaten somewhere else or something – but thinking that now, it sounded stupid.

Marco suddenly dipped below his bed and pulled out his nearly empty suitcase. He pulled out a plastic container, and inside was a multipack of bags of chips, some candy bars, dried fruit, and rice pudding tins. Jean started to laugh.

“What?” asked Marco, sounding as though he was about to laugh too.

“Just – just, you always surprise me.”

“Well, you've gotta be prepared. This isn't the first time I've fallen asleep and missed Levi's pasta.”

Jean laughed some more, and sat on his bed, opposite, as Marco grabbed one of the packs of chips. He offered a bag to Jean, but Jean shook his head.

“Good,” replied Marco. “I'm not sure how many more times I'll fall asleep instead of eating. Need to keep well stocked.”

Jean smiled, crossing his legs and leaning back against the wall as Marco munched away.

“Hey,” he said. “We need to start coming up with a handshake for the counsellor contest.”

“We do!” cried Marco. “Let's do it, if you're not too tired. I feel really awake now.”

“Sure,” replied Jean, smiling, letting Marco come over and sit on his bed, facing Jean, touching his hands and making Jean have to think over and over again in his mind, _I hate Marco Bodt, I hate Marco Bodt, I hate Marco Bodt,_ even though he wasn't entirely sure why he did anymore. He was just stubborn, he supposed, and he was going to stick with that idea until his fingers stopped tingling at the memory of Marco's warm hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it wasn't a very funny chapter but i was tired today and when i'm tired i don't do humour i just pull a serious face because goddamnit that's the way my face falls can people stop telling me i look angry.
> 
> alsooooo to those of you who do archery and are like GOSH SO MANY INACCURACIES i cannot apologise enough. i do archery at uni and i'm such a fuckin novice despite having been doing it for a year, and i have no idea how they would do it with kids who knows??? hanji's health and safety at this camp is pretty lax.


	5. Little of a Long Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Accidents happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ONCE AGAIN MANY WONDERFUL THX TO LITTLESPOON AND HER HELP IN EDITING AND BEING "NITPICKY" (except it's not nitpicky she's actually being awesome and making sure it's as good as it can be)
> 
> i think my updates are always either going to be on Sundays and Mondays from now on bc of the return to uni, sorry for the delay this week D:

“We're lost.”

Marco was sat on a rock, casually peeling a banana, as Jean checked the map for the umpteenth time. Most of the kids were tuckered out, laid out on the grass, reminding Jean of that time Connie and Sasha got stoned and went out to look at the stars, despite the fact that they lived in a light polluted area, and the sky was usually tinged with orange, rather than littered with constellations. That didn't stop them from spending the whole night out there.

“No, we are not lost.”

Marco chewed on the banana. Jean pointed to where he thought they were on the map. No, not where he thought they were. Where he _knew_ they were, goddamnit. Marco looked to the map, then back to Jean's face, taking another bite of his banana.

“Jean, the map is upside down, and has been for the past three hours.”

Jean turned the map around and, to his increasing horror, found he had in fact been leading the group the wrong way for three hours. In fact, he was so awfully dreadfully wrong that he had managed to take them out of the camp boundaries. He pressed a woeful hand to his forehead and dug in, hoping that maybe if he pressed hard enough time would reverse and they would no longer be on the wrong trail.

“Why didn't you tell me earlier?” he whined to Marco. Marco was finishing the banana now. He looked sheepish for a moment.

“Um,” he said, putting the banana peel in one of the bags they were using to carry rubbish. “Because – you just looked really excited so I assumed you decided to take a different route.”

Jean sat down next to Marco, knowing he must have looked as hopeless as he felt.

“We're meant to be back in an hour. What will happen if we're not?”

Marco shrugged, looking a little harassed too. He ran a hand through his hair and gestured for Jean to hand over the map. Jean shoved it in his direction, inwardly panicking, but trying not to let it show. Marco hurriedly grabbed it and, with stronger force than he really needed, crumping the sides of the map, he twisted it round and round.

“What are you doing, Marco?” Jean asked, running a ragged hand through his hair, and turning to watch Freckles looking down severely at the paper.

“I'm just – I'm trying to see if there's a way we can save the situation.”

“Oh?”

“Maybe,” Marco said, nibbling on his lip, something Jean noticed the boy did when he was concerned. “Maybe if we go round here.” He leaned into Jean, and pointed at his alternative route. Jean nodded slowly, not quite understanding how it would be quicker, but figuring from Marco's past record of just being all-round good at everything but archery, that it must be. He hated that he so easily assumed Marco was good at things.

“You sure?”

“I think so. It should only take us two hours max, if we go back this way.”

“OK, let's do it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Marco grinned, and Jean smiled back despite himself.

“We should round up the kids ASAP then,” he said.

“Good idea,” agreed Marco, who immediately set about getting his things in order so that they could get going. Jean watched in near-disbelief at the speed Marco took life. It was almost as though as soon as he had an idea of what he wanted to do he would just go and do it. Jean wished he had that resolve. But instead Jean found himself hastily cramming the map back into his rucksack pocket while Marco managed to herd the children back into formation.

Jean heaved his rucksack on and looked onwards in the direction Marco had decided was best to go. He hoped the boy was right.

* * *

Two hours later, Jean, Marco, and twenty children emerged from a dark forest, blinking in the bright sunlight, to find themselves on the edge of a main road.

Jean paused, his lips pursed.

“Marco,” he said slowly.

“Don't,” said Marco. “Please, just don't.”

“Uh,” said one of the kids. “I know I asked this about forty-billion hours ago, but where are we?”

“Ask Marco,” Jean growled.

Marco threw his hands in the air defensively. “Ask Jean!” he cried.

“You're both absolute idiots,” remarked another kid.

Marco suppressed a snort. Jean glared, but he knew it was only playful. He really couldn't make himself hate him.

No wait.

Jean hated Marco. But just – in that moment – he thought the situation – it called for being more – kind to Marco because … because they were in front of the kids. And it was partially Jean's fault. And Marco's face scrunched up in a really endearing way which made Jean want to poke his cheeks and – and he still hated Marco, of course.

He hated Marco especially as they watched the speeding traffic whizz by.

“Do we – do we have to cross this?” asked one of the quieter boys, nervously.

“Uh.” Marco scratched the side of his face.

“Yes,” Jean answered for him, as he took a brief look at the map. “Why are we here, Marco? Why didn't you notice a road here? Why didn't you realise this path would take more than two hours?”

“Because I'm a huge asshole?” offered Marco, shrugging plaintively.

“Gee, you got it straight away. Can we have a round of applause for the huge asshole, kids?”

The kids all giggled at the rude word, and clapped. Marco flushed, but played along, bowing dramatically.

“Thank you, thank you,” he said, pretending to accept roses from the crowd.

Jean punched him lightly in the arm. “Don't overplay it,” he said.

“What? How dare you? I would never,” Marco chuckled.

“So, what do we do?” Jean asked, looking out to the road, where a car zoomed by once every five seconds or so.

“I guess we just gotta cross the road then walk along the sidewalk until we reach the camp entrance again. It's gotta be along this road.”

Jean narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “I thought you were sure the camp was going to be right here.”

“I was wrong, OK! People make mistakes!” Marco was laughing as he flailed wildly, making Jean grin with amusement, but as a car rushed past suddenly Jean grabbed hold of Marco's waving arms and suddenly pushed himself against him, away from the traffic.

“Hey, man,” he said, clutching the boy's shoulders, watching the traffic intensely, gripping tightly onto Marco, chest against his chest, protectively veering him away from the whooshing cars. “Don't – Don't hurt yourself.”

Jean felt more than saw Marco's cheeks burn up for a moment as the freckled boy faltered a second, before turning to the kids behind them and saying, “And that's your lesson in road safety today.”

The children all laughed and Jean realised he was still holding on. He gently pried himself from Marco who smiled awkwardly. Jean huffed and turned back towards the traffic, trying to calculate how to do this. Marco put a warm hand on his shoulder.

“We could do it so one of us crosses with, maybe, three of them at a time, and the other stays here to watch out for the rest?”

Jean nodded slowly.

“Who'll do the crossing?” he asked.

“I don't mind.”

“A-Are you sure?”

Jean suddenly felt a concern deep in his chest; he didn't want Marco to do the crossing.

“I don't mind doing it,” he said quickly.

“No, really, it's OK. Shouldn't be too difficult. There aren't that many cars.”

Jean felt something within him flare up with panic, but he quelled the feeling as best he could. 

“Ah,” he said quietly. “OK.”

“Don't worry! I'll be more careful when I'm looking after real life human beings; I'd throw myself in front of them before a car could get to them if it came to it. You wouldn't have to go back a few kids less.”

“No,” said Jean quickly. “I mean-” but he didn't know what he meant. He had said that “no” without even thinking. “No” what? A car flew past, and Jean felt bad because he knew it was because for a moment he had considered how much Marco's life weighed up against anyone else's. He didn't want kids to be run over, but neither did he want Marco to be. He shook his head and gripped his hair, dispelling his mind of his confusing thoughts. _I hate Marco._ There. That was better. “I mean, let's not have anyone get run over. Hanji wouldn't be pleased with me coming back with mentally scarred kids either.”

“Sure,” said Marco, as he began rounding up the first three kids.

Jean bit his lip and pushed the others further back, away from the cars. He watched, tense, as Marco led the small group across, stopping in the middle, and then, with his heart beating even faster, Jean watched worriedly as Marco crossed the road back towards them.

When he got back, Jean fought the urge to hold Marco and keep him there. Instead he tentatively gestured for more kids to step up. Marco smiled, trying to assure Jean, and led them across. With his strange mixture of teenage awkwardness and adult grace, Marco went back and forth the road a few times, ferrying the children across, with Jean condemned to simply watch and pray.

Jean couldn't understand how Marco was so easy with the situation. Although Jean supposed he himself was quite a jittery person, and would often stop doing things on the basis that he would suddenly be washed over with a tide of anxiety. He absently noted though how little he worried when he was around Marco usually. Maybe it was because he thought of Marco as being so capable. Just now though, watching a car speed past the boy as he made his way back towards Jean, his hair blowing up in the ebb of rushing air, Jean felt slightly nauseous.

Marco came back, and took the last of the kids.

“Come on, Jean,” he said, looking back at Jean, who found himself alone all of a sudden. “It's not as dangerous as it looks. It's a really straight road. We can see the cars coming for miles. You're safe.”

It didn't completely settle his nerves, but he supposed Marco was right. You could see the road for miles; cars that were coming were really easy to avoid. He still found himself silently slipping his fingers lightly over Marco's wrist. Marco's fingers curled in acknowledgement and Jean did feel safer. They crossed the road quickly, and safely and without any incident.

And finally they were on the other side. Jean immediately let go of Marco's wrist and breathed a sigh of relief. He turned to Marco, just to stare at his unharmed face. Freckles was going round the kids, counting them and making sure they were all OK and it was nice to just be calmed by his soothing tone of voice and cheery smile.

By the time Jean was able to snap back to reality, Marco had herded the kids into pairs, and had aligned himself next to Jean at the front of the group.

“OK everyone,” said Marco, looking seriously at the children, who were getting very restless, having had to stand around and wait for so long – despite their far too exciting trip across the road. “You all need to hold hands with your partner, and make sure you stay as far away from the road as possible. The camp is just down the road here, but it might take a while to get there. Are you ready?”

 _Most_ of the kids shouted a half-hearted, “yes!”

But one girl – one girl by the name of Ellie – raised her hand, quick as a flash.

“Why do we have to hold hands?” she asked, her nasally voice even louder than the whizzing cars.

“Uh,” began Marco. “It's because then you're less likely to stray, and it means you've always got someone to help you up if you trip or fall. It keeps you together. Makes me and Jean feel better about walking in a dangerous place, even if you feel like you don't need to hold hands.”

“Marco, it would make me feel a lot better about walking in a dangerous place if you and Jean held hands,” said Ellie simply, staring Jean right in the eye as she did.

 _What._ Jean glared daggers back at the little runt. She was doing this on purpose, because she saw him stare at Marco like – maybe, once. Or twice. She might have seen him stare at Marco a few times. But only out of hatred.

Marco made a noise that sounded like, “eep.”

“It would just make me feel a lot safer knowing you two are safe,” said Ellie. “I won't hold hands with Rebekah, unless you hold hands with Jean.”

Jean knew that Marco couldn't say no to the girl, because she had a point. Why should they make the kids all hold hands if they didn't have to? Jean sighed irritably, and thrust his hand into Marco's.

Marco jumped from the contact, but then Jean felt fingers slowly close around his own.

“OK,” said Marco, blushing furiously. “Are we all ready to go _now_?”

Ellie and Rebekah whooped, and the rest of the kids responded with an exasperated, “ _yes_.”

“Let's go, come on, hop to it,” said Jean, and turned around, leading Marco, refusing to look at him.

They began walking down the road, and Jean insisted on being car-side of the sidewalk, despite Marco's attempts to swap over.

“You just look really worried is all,” he said, fingers gripping tightly to Jean's. He felt like it should feel uncomfortable having his hand held by his mortal enemy, but it just didn't.

Jean shook his head. “I'm not worried, I just don't like roads.”

“OK,” said Marco. There was a pause, and Jean shifted his rucksack with the hand that wasn't holding onto Marco's, knowing that Marco was trying not to push him. “Can I tell you a secret?”

Jean looked towards Marco, whose brow was knitted in concern.

“What is it?”

“I was really scared about crossing the road too.”

“You were? You didn't look it.”

“I'm usually really bad at pretending I'm not scared of something. I like at least someone to know.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“Because you looked so nervous too, I didn't want to make it worse.”

Jean thought back; it would have made him feel a lot worse knowing Marco was scared too.

“You still should've told me,” he grumbled, looking to the floor, wanting to hold tighter to Marco's hand, but instead feeling his grip loosen.

“It's not like I betrayed you or anything,” said Marco brightly. “C'mon, pep up. I thought you still didn't like me.”

Jean looked to Marco, who was giving him a sideways smile.

He felt himself pouting like a child. He still didn't understand why Marco didn't tell him; he should have told him. He tightened his hold on Marco's hand, even though he still wasn't sure why he wanted to.

Marco smiled in return.

They kept walking. Every now and then one of them took their hand back to wipe it on their pants; the hot sun making them sticky and almost uncomfortably warm. Jean kind of liked it though; he had never realised how nice it was to hold hands with someone. His ex-girlfriend wasn't much for affection, and when she did do something like hold his hand, it was always really awkward and forced. With Marco that day though, for some reason, despite having literally been forced into it, it was comfortable and nice.

A few times, after not talking for some time, Jean felt Marco's fingers softly twine with his own in a smooth action. When Jean would look at Marco for reasoning though, he realised he hadn't done it on purpose, but either out of habit or just as a natural fidget. Marco would always notice after a moment and hastily undo the action, apologising a little.

Jean would always just shrug, blushing slightly, and look away.

They finally made it to the opening in the trees they hoped would lead back to camp. They all rushed onto the path and stopped as soon as all the kids had made their way into the woods. Jean and Marco let go of each other's hand with a brief flash of a smile from Marco and pursed lips from Jean. After a quick head count they confirmed that all twenty kids were still with them, and they let them have a short break while they checked the map.

“So, how much further, Columbus?” asked Jean as Marco skimmed the sheet.

“Uh,” Marco bit his lip. “I'm nearly on the point of giving up. I have literally no clue.”

Jean felt his stomach drop about eighty leagues. He looked down to the map and it all became a blurry mess. He groaned and held his head in his hands. When he looked up, Marco was staring at him, biting his lip. Jean felt his whole torso grow warm and tender at the sight of Marco's worried face. He suddenly felt stronger; like he wanted to get Marco out of the horrible situation.

“Hey, it's not your fault. We've just gotta focus here,” he said, grabbing onto one side of the map while Marco held the other side.

Marco seemed to perk up too. “I mean, trust Hanji to host her camp in a no signal area, right?” he laughed.

Jean snorted. And then suddenly. “Oh shit, Marco!”

He pulled out his phone from the bottom of his rucksack, which up till now, he had forgotten about.

“We're not _in_ Hanji's camp right now.”

He checked the bars of signal. There were two. Jean jumped up with a whoop.

“Hallelujah!” sang Marco gleefully, making Jean laugh.

He sat down and hurriedly clicked onto the shitty browser app, and waited for about two years on google maps, Marco leaning against his shoulder snugly, watching the screen too. Eventually they managed to find directions from where they were to the camp. The good news was that Marco had led them in the right direction so they wouldn't have to cross the road again. The bad news was it would take them another three hours.

“Three … hours … ?” said Marco slowly. “Oh man, I hecked up.”

Jean's eyes were wide with shock.

“We both hecked up,” he said softly, not sure what else he could say.

“We should tell the kids,” Marco replied quietly.

“We should prepare our wills. Hanji is going to have a fit.”

“What about Levi?”

They both shuddered involuntarily, before throwing themselves back into action, Marco rounding up the kids and Jean calling the camp HQ to update them on the situation. At least now they knew exactly where they were going.

And exactly how long it would take them.

* * *

Three hours and forty-seven minutes later, twenty tired children made their way through the dusking twilight into camp HQ to be fed their dinner, whilst their equally, if not more so, exhausted counsellors headed into HQ to fill out some shitty paperwork. Jean found himself nearly falling asleep as Levi stalked behind them, herding them through the corridors, talking about how much they fucked up. Marco looked like he was about to cry.

“Damn it,” muttered Jean.

It took about twenty minutes to fill in and file away the paperwork, then another twenty minutes being berated by Levi some more, then being handed over to Hanji who congratulated them on having pulled off “literally the greatest off-course I've ever seen.” She also then went onto congratulate them for being so positive about it, not panicking, and sticking together so well.

Marco yawned at that point, and Hanji sent them back to their cabin.

They made their miserable way to the cabin, where they simply flopped onto their beds, each taking their time to get ready for bed.

Jean left to go to the bathroom, but when he came back Marco was sat up in bed in his blue pyjamas, eating rice pudding out of one of the tins.

“Hey,” he said, smiling.

“Hey,” Jean replied.

“Want some?”

Jean shrugged. “Sure,” he said. “If that's OK.”

“Yeah, c'mere.”

Jean sat next to Marco on his bed, and he passed him his spoon. It was the same one Marco had been using, but Jean was honestly far too tired and hungry to care. They sat in a pleasant silence sharing the tin of cold rice pudding.

“Thanks for being so cool today, Jean,” Marco said eventually.

“Huh?” Jean looked up from licking the spoon. “What?”

“You were just – really on it. Even though I messed up really bad. So I'm sorry, and thanks – I guess.”

“Hey now,” said Jean, passing the spoon back, having finished the last of the rice pudding. He scooted away, a little embarrassed. “I was the one who fucked things up to begin with. Y-You were the cool one. God, I'm too tired for this. I'm going to bed, OK?”

“Sure.”

Marco took the tin from Jean, who lumbered over to his own bed, and watched as Marco snuggled under his covers, before Jean did the same himself. Warm and sleepy, Jean wiggled around into a more comfortable position. He liked sleeping with one leg straight, and the other curled up. However, despite all his efforts to activate sleeping mode, as Jean's eyes fluttered closed he suddenly noticed something. Something black and huge and with far too many legs.

He squealed, then covered his mouth.

Across the room he heard a muffled, “Wuh?”

Jean felt his toes curl and his body go numb as he processed the fact that there was a spider – there was a fucking spider on his pillow.

“M-Marco,” he trembled. “There's a fu- a fucking spider next – to my face. _WhatdoIdo?_ ”

There was silence for a moment, then a rustle, and another slightly-less muffled, “Wuh?”

Jean took the initiative as his body began to waver between numb and too hot, and managed to jump out of the bed and onto the floor. He breathed heavily, and then finally managed to calm down. The only problem was, he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep in that bed ever again. Ever.

He heard some more rustling behind him, and turned round to see Marco propped up on his forearms looking down at Jean.

“You OK?” asked Marco, furrowing his brow.

“Uh,” with a breathy huff, Jean realised his mouth had gone completely dry. He grabbed the bottle of water he always kept by his bed and took a swig. “Y-Yeah,” he replied shakily. “Just, um, don't like spiders. So I'll be fine. I'll just – I'm just going to – go over here for a bit. There was some, ah, reading I really wanted to do.”

Jean, still feeling pretty jittery, got to his feet and headed for the rickety chair in the corner, grabbing a random book from the cabin's bookcase of things no one ever read.

“Yep,” he said. “I really needed to get round to reading …” he read the cover. “Good old – oh fuck, I mean – yeah, good old _Harlequin_.”

“Jean, you should go to sleep.” Marco hadn't moved from his propped up position.

“I'm _reading_.”

Marco put his fingers to his forehead. “Here, you take my bed,” he said, getting out. “I'll take yours.”

“Marco ...”

“Jean, just go to bed.”

Marco glared at him, pointing towards the bed with a severe look on his face. Jean felt a bit like a child.

“Fine,” he said, stalking over and getting under the covers. They still smelt quite fresh from Marco changing them the other night, but they also had a nice other smell to them. Something more earthy and, in Jean's opinion, much better. It smelt like warmth and of home. Jean briefly observed that that was what Marco smelt like. He curled up under the sheets, expectant of the rustle of sheets from the other side of the room.

But they never came. Instead there was an indecisive creak of floorboards, and mutterings coming from Marco.

Jean turned round to see what Freckles was up to.

“Oi,” he said, watching as Marco picked up the Harlequin book and headed over to the uncomfortable chair. “What are you doing?”

“You know,” said Marco, eyes wide. “I think I need to catch up on my reading too, so I'll just sit here and-”

“You are so fucking lame.”

“It's a _really_ big spider, Jean.”

“I guess that makes me really lame too.”

“We always knew that.”

“Hey.”

Marco giggled, and Jean sighed.

“You should just sleep here too.”

Marco stopped giggling.

“What?”

“Get in bed.”

“But Jean-”

“Don't question me on this, it's way too late, I'm way too tired. Don't – just don't – gah! Just get in the bed.”

Marco, wide-eyed and sheepish, shuffled over to the bed, as Jean turned around. He heard Marco hover over him for a moment. Jean shimmied closer to the wall, giving Marco more space to get in. Slowly, quietly, Marco gently eased himself onto the bed next to Jean. He was lying face up, in what seemed like a fairly uncomfortable position. Jean shifted uneasily, squeezing himself into a curled up ball, trying to make space for Marco to turn over or shift into a better form, but they both just got more uncomfortable.

“Hang on,” breathed Marco, turning over to Jean. He tentatively took Jean's wrists and when he met with no fight (mainly to do with the fact that Jean was in too much shock at the sudden closeness of Marco's face and body and hands), he pulled Jean towards him so that Jean could curl to his side comfortably in a natural sleeping position. Marco's natural resting pose slotted together nicely with Jean's, as he lay on his back, turning his head to one side.

For a few moments, Jean and Marco stared at each other in their newfound intimacy. Jean really wished it was awkward – but it wasn't awkward, it wasn't awkward at all. Jean's hands were touching Marco's side, and their legs were nearly entwined; Jean's ankles brushing against Marco's calves. Their faces were just inches apart, and Jean found himself staring, staring hard at Marco's slightly parted lips. Marco began to nibble on his bottom lip. Jean realised that must mean he was nervous about something.

Without thinking, Jean put his hand to Marco's chest where his heart was beating fast. He didn't say anything, but Marco stopped biting his lip. Jean blushed and hid his face by curling against Marco's neck, where he could comfortably rest it. Marco “hm”ed in acknowledgement, and his breathing began to slow down. Jean closed his eyes and let himself drift to sleep in the warm nearly-embrace of the person he still hated most in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i'm from the UK and we have mills & boon here, but i googled it and apparently harlequin is the US version of mass produced erotic novels? and i figured since i've set this in the US i should probably keep it US-esque?? although in chapter 1 i referenced dairylea and later found out this is not in america?? so many question marks???!?!??!
> 
> also dont look at me i am forever on the jeanmarco arachnophobia bandwagon and nothing will ever change this


	6. A Little More Like You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco: super thief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mega super thx to LittleSpoon so much love <3
> 
> and also mega super thx to commenters bc each and every one of you literally made my day and i've had a really ill week

When Jean woke up, still sleepy and not quite ready for the day, he felt unnaturally warm and unusually comfortable. He lifted his head slightly, and remembered that he had not been sleeping in his bed. Instead he found his head resting on Marco's chest, his leg pulled up and curled over one of Marco's, his foot snuggled between Marco's legs, his arms flopped over wherever. His knuckles were grazing Marco's wrist which was tucked under Jean's back. Marco was breathing softly, filtered sunlight on his freckled cheeks. He was turned towards Jean, one arm slung under the boy and the other above his head.

Jean could feel Marco's warm breath on his cheek, and as morning breath went, it wasn't too terrible. He decided to just bask in the warmth and contentment of lying in bed with Marco for as long as he could before they would get inevitably called upon to look after twenty excitable kids. In the weak light though, he found himself drifting back off into an easy sleep.

He woke again when the hand beneath his back began to shift and gently pulled away from him. Jean grumbled at the loss and opened one eye.

Marco had retrieved his arm, and was groggily looking around. He yawned and stretched. Jean absently tightened his foot's hold on Marco's leg to stop it from falling away. He groaned and buried his face into Marco's night shirt. Marco huffed a surprised laugh and put his hand on Jean's head, pushing it away. Jean noted that Marco's thumb might have stroked his hair a little bit while he did though.

“I think it's time to wake up, Jean,” said Marco, smirking.

“No,” said Jean, rolling into Marco's side.

“Jean, c'mon. Can't be late.”

He pushed Jean away from him again. Jean scrunched his face, furrowing his brow.

Marco tried to untangle his legs from Jean, but Jean felt like being a child and just knotted his legs even more with Marco's.

“Jean!” laughed Marco. “Stop!”

Jean tried to suppress his chuckle but it came out of him without much warning. He covered his sleepy face with a hand as he began to laugh. Marco laughed too, still trying to get out of the bed, but Jean still wouldn't let him.

“No,” he whined each time. “Marco, it's _too early_. Even you can't be so chipper at this time.”

Marco flicked him on the forehead. Jean turned onto his back, deadpan.

“I'm not chipper, shut up,” he said. “I just want to wake up in time so that Levi doesn't casually murder us with, like, his pinky or something next time he sees us. You realise we dumped ourselves in his bad books.”

“Oh man,” Jean dragged a hand down his face. “I was already in his bad books before. You know on the first day, when you weren't here, I tried to make him look like an idiot by backchatting him.”

Marco sucked in his breath.

“It's mainly your fault, just so you know,” Jean added.

“Ah,” said Marco. “Is this why you don't like me then?”

“Mostly,” agreed Jean, wondering if he was joking.

Marco breathed out heavily, then let out a soft chuckle.

“Will you release me now?” he asked.

Jean sighed melodramatically, and loosened his legs from Marco, who slipped out of the bed – fairly ungracefully, actually, nearly tripping over his stupid long legs. Jean snorted and Marco turned round to pout at him.

“Ugh,” said Jean, feeling the cold he had expected from losing Marco's body heat.

He starfished then curled up again and turned onto his front, face in the pillow, whining. Marco pat him on the head, laughing.

“Get up, you loser,” he said. “I'm going for a shower.”

“Yeah, you need one,” said Jean, knowing his voice must be slightly muffled by the bed, unconsciously relaying an insult.

“Forgot I just slept with Mr. Perfect,” said Marco, sardonically, then immediately pursed his lips. Jean looked up at him. “I – I didn't mean it like that.”

Jean closed his eyes, trying not to laugh. He realised how fucking awkward the situation actually was. He had just spent the night in the same bed as the guy he had been trying to hate for the past week and a half. But it was a survival thing. They had been avoiding a huge spider.

“Go get a shower, Freckles,” he said, rolling over.

“Sir,” replied Bodt, who probably saluted as well, the dork.

Jean smiled despite himself.

* * *

Yawning, Jean stumbled into the canteen with Marco by his side, who snorted at Jean's failure of an attempt to enter. Jean glowered and punched Marco's arm lightly who mocked serious injury.

They headed over to the buffet table where, shockingly, they had managed to arrive in time in order to get actual food. Jean snaffled a few pain au chocolats and Marco took a couple of slices of toast with marmalade. They turned to face the tables, but neither of their two groups of friends were anywhere to be seen.

“Oh,” said Marco. “Maybe we are – a bit earlier than I thought.”

“Are you telling me I could have spent longer in bed?” said Jean, eye twitching.

“Uh,” said Marco. “Nope. No, that's not what I'm telling you at all. Ha ha, don't be silly, Jean. Eep!”

Marco raced to sit down at a table before Jean could grab him.

“Don't hurt me, I surrender,” he laughed, holding his hands in the air once his food was on the table. “I'm in the neutral zone, you're not allowed to beat me up when I'm sat down.”

“I wasn't aware there were rules,” replied Jean, sitting down next to him.

“Yeah, another rule is that you can't shove five pastries down your throat at once.”

“That's a dumb rule,” said Jean, mouth full. Marco shrugged and began to munch on his toast.

Slowly, more people began to shuffle their sleepy way into the canteen. Jean realised the reason Marco probably woke up early was because the night before they'd skipped dinner, and gone to bed pretty early. He looked over to Marco who was absentmindedly sipping on juice and staring out of one of the windows. Jean turned back to his last pain au chocolat, only to choke on it as he was suddenly attacked from behind.

“ _Jean!_ ” yelled a chirpy voice.

“Feels like I haven't seen you in years, dude,” said another.

“The Jerk stole him from us,” realised the one who still had a stranglehold around Jean's chest.

“Am I The Jerk?” asked Marco innocently.

“Yeah, you're a huge jerk, I'm sorry to inform you,” said Sasha. Jean slumped, embarrassed, and she just gripped on tighter.

“There's plenty of space to sit down if you want to,” said Jean as best he could while his lungs were being crushed.

Sasha leant her head happily on his shoulder and smiled, closing her eyes. “I'm quite comfortable here actually,” she said.

“I'm not,” Jean wheezed.

Connie sat down next to Jean and took the chocolate croissant from his hand.

“No,” breathed Jean as Connie practically inhaled his food in front of him.

Sasha climbed over the back of the plastic chair Jean was sat in and snuggled in so he was sat between her legs. He tried to leave but she still refused to let go.

“Sasha, why?” was all he could say.

Marco began to giggle at the three of them. Jean glared, but that just made him laugh harder. His laugh was infectious too. Jean hated that Marco's laugh made him so happy; he hated how perfect he knew Marco's laugh was. All four of them began to chuckle, making them the loudest table of the morning.

“Oh, Marco! There you are!”

Marco's friend, Mina, appeared and gave Marco's head a quick peck. Marco smiled brightly at her, turning to her, and Jean watched his face appreciatively as the boy's eyes softened to greet his friend. He was saying something to her, and Jean was transfixed by the way his jaw moved, and that occasional crease by his eye. Sometimes when Marco pulled the side of mouth up, there was a tiny hint of a dimple.

Marco stopped talking and Mina was replying to him.

“OK, well I'm just going to go get breakfast, be right back!”

Marco smiled at her as she walked away.

“Oh, you guys all know Mina, right?” he asked.

Sasha and Connie nodded enthusiastically.

“Mina was the only other person to drink with me for lying about it being my birthday to get free cake at a restaurant. I like Mina,” Sasha told them, referring back to that fucking game of Never Have I Ever. Jean wondered whether they would ever be over it.

“Awesome,” said Marco, grinning.

Jean shifted and finally managed to relinquish Sasha's death grip on him, so he could move to sit on the other side of Connie.

“Be _freeeeeeee_ ,” she cried as he did. Jean covered his face with his hand, too tired to deal with Sasha. He was always too tired to deal with Sasha. Connie was being abnormally quiet.

“I drank to that too, Sash,” he said, sounding a little offended.

“Yeah, but you don't count,” she replied quickly.

Mina suddenly popped up again, and parked herself next to Marco. She slammed her tray of cereal on the table.

“You will never guess what just happened to me!” she cried.

“What!” yelled Sasha excitedly. “What happened!”

“Well, as I was going up to get some toast, that flipping Annie girl just cut straight in front of me and took the last slices.”

Sasha gasped dramatically. “Not Annie!” she whispered to Connie.

“Yeah, it was like she didn't even see me! _And_ she took six slices. Six! Who needs six slices! She's like … _this_ big!”

“She probably got some for her friends,” Marco said, pointing at the table where Reiner, Bertl and Annie sat.

“No, don't try to make this less of thing, Marco. I can only be consoled by the idea that she will eat all six pieces of toast, which is too many pieces of toast for one girl, and make herself feel sick from it all.”

Jean snorted. Mina was super over-dramatic, but it was entertaining. It offset Marco's calming air. Marco absently rubbed Mina's shoulder, smiling embarrassedly.

“Well, I know for a fact that Marco is an expert at stealing toast,” Jean piped up, an idea forming.

“Whoa, since when?” said Mina. “Marco's never been good at stealing anything.”

“Apparently toast is the exception,” Jean replied, his grin widening. “I think we should test it out now.”

Marco's cheeks were flushed bright red. He shrunk into the table. “No, what?”

“Yeah, I want toast, Marco,” Mina pouted and crossed her arms with a flourish.

“Marco, I dare you to go over there and steal two pieces of toast from that table,” Jean said, staring Marco right in his big brown eyes. “Right now.”

Marco shrank further down.

“ _Nooooooo_ ,” he whined. “Not those three.”

“It's too late!” cried Sasha. “A challenge has been issued!”

She mocked a trumpet sound, and looked expectantly at Connie. Jean looked back at the two of them. He narrowed his eyes – something was wrong. Sasha's face had fallen and Connie was slumped in his chair.

“Hey,” he said, softly all of a sudden.

Connie jumped up from his seat. “There is no backing out of a dare, Marco Bodt! Get on your feet!”

Marco groaned sadly, and Jean decided to ignore the Sasha/Connie weirdness for now, and opted to watch as Marco made his slow but deliberate way to the scariest table in the canteen. Sasha had started humming 'The Eye of the Tiger'. It wasn't that anyone was particularly scared of Reiner or Bertl, but _everyone_ was scared of Annie. She once beat up a random guy who walked into the camp by accident, and there was a rumour about that she was actually a secret agent. But, scariest of all was the whispered suggestion around camp that she was related to Levi.

He watched as the boy began happily chatting to Reiner and Bertl, successfully averting their attention from the table. He told them a joke and they both began to laugh heartily. Annie glared into the distance, ignoring all of them. As the two boys laughed Marco sneakily grabbed a slice of toast from Reiner's plate. Jean internally applauded. Annie hadn't noticed. Marco was about to reach over to grab another, when Annie suddenly turned her gaze to him.

He quickly grabbed back his hand and wrapped up the conversation with Reiner and Bertl, who pat him on the shoulder and sent him on his way.

Marco came springing back to the table, chanting, “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” under his breath as he flung the piece of toast onto Mina's tray.

“Thank you, lovely,” she said happily, spreading butter over it.

“She saw me,” Marco hissed, eyes wide and terrified. “Is she still looking?”

Jean looked behind him casually.

“Yeah,” he said. “Oh man, she looks really pissed.”

She wasn't and she didn't; she was laughing at Reiner's confused face as he tried to figure out where his food went. But Jean was enjoying torturing Marco.

“Oh my _God_. We've got to go. Now.”

Jean let a laugh escape at Marco's tense face, and then got up.

“OK, don't wet your pants,” he said as they left the table. “See you later, guys.”

“Bye, Jean, I miss you already!” screeched Sasha. Jean waved a hand, and made a mental note to remember to ask Connie what was going on with the two of them.

Outside, Marco breathed a sigh of relief. Jean sat down on the steps of the porch, his head on his hands.

“What's up?” asked Marco, sitting down next to him.

“Hm,” replied Jean. “Nothing.”

“Don't be like that,” said Marco. “I'm not stupid.”

Jean decided to be petty. The day before, Marco hadn't bothered to tell him that he was scared, so why should Jean tell him that he was worried about his best friends. “No, really, it's nothing,” he said harshly, hoping Marco would get the message.

Marco blinked a moment. “OK,” was all he said. Then a cheerful, “Hey!”

Jean turned to him.

“We've still got, like, half an hour before we have to go meet the kids. Why don't we practice the handshake?”

Jean shrugged.

“Please cheer up, Jean. I just stole toast from right underneath Reiner Braun's nose – that should make you the opposite of this mood.”

Jean sighed. Marco looked so earnest and concerned.

“Sorry,” Freckles said, looking away. “I don't want to push you. I'm not trying to make it worse.”

Jean grabbed Marco's hands and put them in the starting position for the handshake, palm to palm. Marco turned back around to face him and smiled.

“This is probably the lamest thing I have ever done,” said Jean as they began to clap and click in time.

“You love it though,” said Marco as they ended it on what Connie had coined as a “bro-hug”, clasping hands in the middle then patting each other's back.

Jean gave a despairing look.

“Sorry, sorry,” said Marco. “You don't love it – at all. Not Jean. Cool – super cool – Jean.”

He looked so pleased with his teasing and Jean couldn't help but smirk from the stupidity of it.

“Heh,” Marco stretched and stood up. “We're still a bit early but we could go get the kids now.”

“Sure.”

* * *

Raft building was Jean's favourite fucking activity.

Well, apart from archery of course. But he was practically an archery professional. Raft building on the other hand was not necessarily a strength of his, and though it was unlike Jean to enjoy doing something he wasn't good at, he always had fun when they got to the real manual labour of rolling barrels and strapping them up together. He liked the effort it took, and the way their labours produced actual tangible results.

The instructor had split the group into two; one raft each. Marco was with the boys and they were busy shifting raft-making equipment about fifty yards away. Jean was with the girls, and the instructor had given Ellie the title of Captain – and Jean had to admit she was doing a pretty good job as a leader, yelling at the girls and keeping their spirits up. She had even had the idea to sing songs as they wheeled the huge barrels and carried the long planks of wood to the place they were setting the raft up.

He sang along with them as they worked, somehow happy to take orders from the ten year old for once. He was looking forward to the next few days as the run-up to the mid-camp break, where the counsellors were able to let off steam for a few days while the kids did big camp-wide games in the HQ building with the camp directors. He liked the mid-camp break because before it there was a huge treasure hunt, which Jean was determined to win this year, and then the counsellors got the whole weekend off and Connie and Sasha ran their second party of the camp, which was a tent affair in the woods. It was always awesome.

Finally, they managed to pile all the required materials into one place, on a huge sheet of what looked like binliner, on the bank of the lake.

“So what now, El?” Jean asked Ellie, squinting to look at her as she stood on a bench, right in front of the sun.

“That's _Captain_ to you, you squirming piece of eelbait,” the little girl yelled back. Jean had to admit, her insults were definitely getting more creative. “No! Wait! It's actually Cap'n. Because we're pirates. OK, crew! Time to put the raft together!”

The girls cheered in unison.

Ellie began directing people where to put things together according to the simple little manual sheet the instructor had given her. Jean looked over to the instructor, who was just sat on a bench over the way, reading a Dan Brown novel, sipping from his flask and generally not paying any attention to either group.

Jean narrowed his eyes and internally bemoaned the fact that instructors got paid more than the counsellors.

He looked over to Marco's band of boys who were at a similar stage to them.

“Cap'n!” yelled Jean, saluting, but not sure if that was what he was meant to do. Ellie seemed to appreciate it though.

“Yes, subordinate?” she asked, hands on hips.

“Looks like the other team are catching up with us! What are you going to do?”

Ellie was thoughtful for a minute, then her eyes glittered with a look Jean recognised from years of being friends with Connie and Sasha and their hideous, beautiful pranks and teasing.

“Sabotage,” she whispered, before gathering together a couple of her cronies and hushing whispered instructions to them. Jean dithered on the spot, unable to hear them, not sure if he wanted to, but also wondering whether this was the sort of thing he was supposed to be preventing.

He eventually decided to turn a blind eye, and went over to help a little girl who was struggling to tie a tough rope around one of the barrels. He briefly noticed the two cronies go over to the boys and talk to Marco for a moment before being shown around the boys' raft, and Jean decided that whatever happened to their raft from then on was Freckles' own fault for being the responsible overseer.

A few moments later, the girls had come back from apparently observing the boys' raft and were conferring with Ellie, who looked very pleased. Within the next minute or so they had finally managed to complete the raft, and after Jean and another girl had gone round to check all the ropes were tight and secure, Ellie called out excitedly, having beaten the boys to making the raft.

The instructor coughed and put his book down, awkwardly shifting himself off of the bench and over to the raft. He had a brief look round and decided it was lake-worthy. Ellie whooped, and led the girls in singing a song about beating the other team that Jean wasn't sure was age-appropriate, but joined in with anyway.

A few seconds later the boys all cheered as they finished their own raft, and Jean snuck a glance at Marco whose cheeks were slightly pink from the exertion, and his shirt looked especially tight around his muscular arms. Not for the first time, Jean let himself wonder whether the boy did a lot of sport or worked out a lot. Or maybe he was just naturally really attractive. Objectively, that is. Marco was objectively attractive. Probably. Jean wouldn't know. He wasn't attracted to Marco Bodt.

“Jean, wake up, dufus!”

Jean blinked and saw Ellie snapping her fingers in his face.

“The race is about to start!” she yelled. The yelling was unnecessary really, but Jean had come to expect this from her.

He followed her to where the other girls were putting on life jackets. He helped out a couple of the kids get into some particularly stiff buckles before he put his own on. It wasn't his favourite thing to wear, as it bunched up at his shoulders, and the zip under the buckles could get uncomfortable and itchy when it scratched against his chest. But he supposed it gave him a certain air of purpose, like a uniform. Although, he supposed he was sort of already wearing a uniform underneath. The Camp Rose polo shirt shone bright pink under the fluorescent orange of the life jacket. He was pretty sure he was visible from space with this get up.

Over the way, Marco was also dressed in the stupid life jacket, and Jean revelled in the fact that it made him look like a massive dork.

“Oi, Bodt!” he yelled. “Nice outfit!”

Marco grinned and waved.

“Yeah!” he yelled back. “Finally I feel as stylish as you!”

Jean narrowed his eyes. _Fucking Marco_. He should have expected the sass.

“Jean!” screamed Ellie irritably. “Get on the raft! That's an order!”

Jean turned away from Marco who was also being herded onto the back of his raft.

“Aye, aye, cap'n,” he said.

Ellie and Jean sat at the back of the raft, on a plank to themselves, while the other girls shared their planks with two others. They sat there for a moment while the instructor fumbled around trying to find his whistle to start the race. Ellie suddenly leapt up.

“Jean!” she said. “You have to push the raft off.”

“Oh shit, yeah,” he said, jumping off, getting his leg caught on the plank and nearly tripping over. Briefly he realised he'd sworn in front of Ellie, but decided to look past it. He wanted to beat Marco's team. He looked over to them and saw that a couple of the boys were sniggering at Jean falling over. Marco hadn't seen, but was instead talking with a little boy while they prepared to push the raft into the water.

Jean put on his serious game face and got ready for the whistle. On its sharp little blow he bushed the raft off as hard as he could and leapt onto the back of it.

The girls all began to paddle as fast as they could, while Ellie shouted instructions on how fast they should be going and to what beat. On the other raft the boys were singing some sea shanty, which had apparently been taught to them by Marco if his enthusiasm was anything to go for. He was singing loudly, but Jean could tell he wasn't trying to drown out the kids' voices. Damn it, Marco was a good counsellor.

They reached the halfway point after a few more seconds, just beating the boys by an inch. Everyone was laughing and singing as the girls got splashed by their paddles and had started their own competing shanty. Jean laughed and yelled along with them. With a great creaking and cracking noise however, the boys' raft suddenly lost its back plank. Marco fell into the lake with a great splash.

Jean immediately stopped singing and flipped his whole body round to see where Marco was.

“Guys, stop!” he yelled worriedly. The girls stopped paddling, though Ellie did not looked pleased about this.

Once he saw Marco bob back up on the surface, his life jacket supporting him, he burst into laughter at the boy.

“Jean!” cried Marco, as the boys' raft kept going without him. The girls' raft rocked on the lake surface, not moving anywhere. “Don't laugh!”

“Jean, we have to keep moving. You can't just make us all stop!” Ellie had her hands on her hips.

Jean spluttered with laughter at Marco flailing towards them, swimming awkwardly in the bulky life jacket.

“Help me up,” said Marco, once he'd reached their raft, holding a hand up towards Jean. Jean took it, still laughing, and hauled Marco up onto the plank they were sat on.

Ellie yelled at her crew to keep moving.

“Stop laughing at me,” grinned Marco, trying to squeeze some of the water out of his shorts. It just made the scene all the more hilarious. “Seriously, I could do things to you. And then you would stop laughing.”

“Oh, yeah?” hiccoughed Jean. “Like what?”

“Like this.”

Marco flung himself on top of Jean and rubbed his wet clothes all over Jean's dry ones.

“No!” he cried, trying to grab hold of Freckles and push him off, but he was just pinned further down to the thin plank.

“Have you stopped laughing?”

“OK, OK, I've stopped laughing! Get off me, you dork!” Although Jean was still laughing, it wasn't at Marco's expense as he was also now soaked.

“Stop rocking the raft, you guys!” shouted Ellie, looking down at them sternly.

“Sorry, Cap'n,” said Marco. “Won't happen again. Thanks for taking me onboard.”

“Yes, well, we're behind now so if we lose it's your fault. Actually, no. It's Jean's fault for making us wait for you.”

“Yeah, Jean,” said Marco, turning to him and giving him a little push.

“Oi, you heard the lady, stop rocking the raft, Marco,” Jean replied, pushing him back.

Ellie glared at them.

“Sorry,” they both said, for real this time.

“So, what happened?” asked Jean, grimacing at his wet clothes.

“I don't know! One minute I was on the plank, the next minute the rope had come undone and the plank fell off, and I was in the water.”

A couple of girls in front of them snickered.

“Oh my God,” said Jean, putting a hand to his head.

“What is it?” asked Marco, still squeezing water from his shorts.

“It was the girls. Ellie sent a couple over to sabotage your raft.”

“What! Those rascals!” Marco mock-glared at Ellie who stuck her tongue out. “Hey – but you knew. That's even worse, Jean, you just let it happen.”

Jean rubbed the back of his head. “Well I didn't exactly know what they were going to do. And look, their sabotage backfired anyway, so I think they all learnt an important lesson today – didn't you, girls?”

He heard a muffled, “Yes, Jean,” from a few of them and decided to take that as a tick on the list of things to teach as a counsellor. The kids learnt about karma today.

“Still blaming you,” said Marco, nudging Jean again.

“Well, you _shouldn't_ ,” replied Jean, nudging Marco back harder.

“You don't control me.” Another nudge, harder this time.

“I don't want to.” Jean's nudge bordered on a push.

“Right!” screeched Ellie. “You keep rocking the raft! You're both off. Get off my vessel!”

“What? No, we didn't mean to!”

But Jean's pleas fell on deaf ears as Ellie forcibly pushed Marco off, who grabbed hold of Jean, successfully pulling him from the raft too. Just before he went underwater, he heard Ellie cackle maniacally and then start screaming for the girls to paddle faster.

Marco's hand was still on his life jacket when he surfaced and they kicked water for a few moments.

“OK,” said Marco, laughing. “You can blame me for this one. I started it.”

“You really are a jerk,” said Jean, punching him lightly.

Marco bobbed a little, trying to imitate a bow in the water. He let go of Jean's jacket, and looked around. They were quite far off the shore, and looking over to where the rafts had ended up, the girls had managed to retake the lead from the boys. They could hear screams and laughter coming from that side of the lake, and Jean felt kind of bad that he wasn't there to make sure it didn't get too rowdy. However, he was also enjoying the soft calm of being with Marco in this part of the lake, just bobbing on the surface with the help of the life jackets and their kicking legs.

“When the girls went over to your raft, what did they even say to you, Marco? I saw you show them round it.”

“Oh – oh they just said they couldn't figure out how to tie some of the knots.”

“How dumb are you? How did you even fall for that?”

“They just said that the girls' team was stuck! I believed them, oh God.”

“You are the worst sort of idiot, Freckles.”

He reached over to noogie Marco, but the water made him miss and instead he clapped a hand onto Marco's shoulder, trying to steady himself. Marco blushed, and smiled. Jean huffed, and turned away.

“Suppose we gotta swim back now,” he said, kicking off. “You could stay here though, I don't mind either way.”

He swam away before Marco could reply with some stupid comment.

* * *

Sasha had insisted that they sit with Marco's group of friends in the canteen that evening because Mina had been so entertaining that morning, and she did not disappoint at dinnertime either. She had a rant about how her mother had called her up in the middle of the day, decided that because she didn't pick up (“I mean, I am counselling at a camp, _mom_. You'd think she'd realise I couldn't pick up, right?!”) that meant Mina didn't want to talk to her and so she was now in a strop and wouldn't pick up the phone when Mina tried to call. She also had a rant about Reiner and Ymir taking all the good equipment, and then she laughed for about ten minutes at a fart joke.

Jean had to admit; Mina _was_ pretty entertaining.

Connie didn't seem all that into it though. From the looks of things, Connie and Sasha had had a pretty rubbish day, but when Jean asked what was up, Sasha shook her head a little too enthusiastically and said, “Nothing!” in a loud voice. Connie just shrugged. Jean wanted to push further, but he didn't want to get in a fight right before going to bed. He decided to leave it for the day, and hope whatever was happening would work itself out.

And if it didn't … well, Marco and Jean were paired up with Sasha and Connie's group for the treasure hunt in a few days. Maybe he could find a moment to talk about it then.

On the way back to the cabin, Marco was humming softly to himself and Jean found it kind of nice to listen to, until Marco seemed to forget how the tune went and let his hum go all over the place. He ended by laughing.

Jean liked how much Marco laughed. He liked people who laughed a lot; like Sasha and Connie. Even his ex-girlfriend laughed a lot. Out of them all though, he liked Marco's laugh the most.

That – that still didn't mean he liked Marco though. Because he didn't. He didn't like Marco at all.

“Gruh,” he muttered as they ascended the porch steps into their cabin.

“Whaddup?” asked Marco, opening the door and holding it for Jean.

“Nothing,” he replied, stepping through and immediately shucking off his clothes. His jeans were still kind of wet from the raft business as he hadn't had time to go and dry off. “Blech,” he muttered as he peeled them off. On the other side of the room he heard Marco getting changed.

Jean grabbed his pyjamas and threw them on quickly, and was about to step into his bed when he suddenly felt a great dread. There was an anxious lump in his throat, and he couldn't quite remember why, until he felt that creeping sensation he always got when he got scared.

_The spider._

It could easily still be in his bed. It was probably there right now. Waiting for him. Oh God. What if it had laid eggs? Do spiders lay eggs? Or do they just give birth? A thousand million spider babies could be waiting for him under those covers, creeping about with eight thousand million legs all dancing over his covers and pillow and undersheets and they'd get onto Jean's skin and they'd crawl all over and get inside his mouth and his ears and his eyes and-

“Jean, just get over here,” came a voice from behind him.

Jean turned round to see Marco looking towards him. He didn't need to question it. He stepped over to Marco's bed, and with a little bit of maneuvering, they managed to recreate the same position they'd had the night before. His heart leapt a little at the intimacy. They weren't as tired as they had been the night before. It had been easier then, because they were too sleepy to notice the awkwardness. This time Jean felt his heart beat fast at the intimacy. This time Marco's grip on him was not as tight, it wasn't as sure or confident. This time Jean could feel Marco's breath hitch; it was a little too ragged to be natural.

Jean didn't want Marco to feel uncomfortable. He was doing him a favour he supposed. With another little leap of his own heart, he took Marco's hand, the one that wasn't underneath his neck and gently held it. They rested their joined hands on Marco's chest. Jean squirmed a little, getting closer to make himself more comfortable, and rubbed his thumb across Marco's hand a couple of times. It was still awkward, but he hoped Marco understood.

As he fell asleep, though, Marco's breath grazing his neck and a strong arm pulled tight around him, Jean realised that he himself did not really understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spending my life imaging jean kirschstein and marco bodt tying rope around barrels. think of the biceps. oh no. p.s. I never did raft building, i did kayaking so accuracy is rubbish. also I know not much has really happened so far buuuuut i'm excited bc there will be actuAL PLOT DEVELOPMENTS??? next chapter. hooray.


	7. Life Gets Hard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hump.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh mAN i got very much behind with work and writing and it all kind of collapsed on me so that's why this is so late ):
> 
> thank you to LittleSpoon for editing and bein perf <3
> 
> also another mega thanks to people who comment because you make me feel like my writing is worth writing and so i keep writing if that makes sense  
> anyhow it's a good thing and you're all great

Bleary eyed and really quite upset that he was awake at this hour, Jean tried to lean back on the squeaky plastic chair and nearly toppled over. He gave a side-eyed glare to Marco who was trying to muffle his chuckles by leaning forward and putting a fist to his mouth. Jean groaned quietly and squinted up at Hanji who was stood on a small makeshift stage in the main hall of the HQ building, and was spreading her arms wide in excitement.

“Holla, counsellors,” she said loudly, far too happy for it to be that early in the morning. “Today's the big day. The big, big day of the infamous – I mean, famous – treasure hunt! I wonder what the treasure this year will be,” she paused for dramatic effect, but instead of the chorus of “ _ooh!_ ”s she was expecting, her statement was met with blank, tired faces. Hanji neither seemed to care nor notice and powered on. “Yeah, that's right. So usual rules apply. No foulplay, don't let the kids get too competitive. Or do. See what happens. What else am I supposed to say?”

She looked down to Levi who began, “You've got to tell them about-”

“Oh _yeah_! I've also got to tell you to check the sheet at the back because that's what will tell you which other class you've been paired with is.”

Levi rolled his eyes at Hanji interrupting him. He let her blabber on for a little while about nonsensical stuff, and maybe she dipped a little into health and safety. But Hanji had a habit of telling the counsellors not to do something, and then correcting her statement with, “But it could be cool if you did,” or “But, I mean, _try_ it, what's the worst that can happen!”

And with a flourished wave and the ominous words, “See you at the end – if you finish, that is!” Hanji and her posse left the room.

Jean stretched in his seat. He looked over to Marco who was twisting round in his chair to watch nearly all of the other counsellors go look at the sheet that decided which classes were paired with which. Jean wondered why people bothered checking; it was always the same every year. Although – looking at Marco – Jean remembered that not _everything_ at the camp was the same every year.

He leaned over and took Marco's wrist in his hand to check the time on Marco's watch. Not even seven AM. _God._

Marco turned back around when he saw Sasha and Connie racing towards them.

“Hey!” yelled Sasha, planting herself on Jean's lap, throwing her arms round his neck. He automatically put his arms around her waist. “We're together again this year.”

“Hooray,” said Jean, trying to sound sarcastic, but actually kind of psyched. He had missed his best friends.

“Yeah, so how are we doing this?” asked Connie, looking not so psyched.

“What do you mean?” asked Marco.

“Well, usually – me and Jean go off with the boys to find some clues, and Mikasa and Sasha go off with the girls. But this year's different. Right?”

Connie looked really mad. Jean did not want to deal with hormonal Connie all day. But he also wanted to know why Connie was so mad. He was too tired for this friendship business this early in the morning. Thankfully Sasha saved him just in time, as she smushed her face to his cheek.

“Well then me and Jean are together because we're both girls this year,” she said happily.

Jean sighed and shrugged. “She's got a point,” he said.

Connie looked like he was trying to swallow something large and dry. “Yeah, makes sense,” he said, clearly trying to make the best out of a bad situation. Jean was so confused.

Surely Connie didn't hate Marco. It was Jean who hated Marco. Connie and Sasha liked Marco.

“Hey man,” he said. “I can join up with you if you want.”

“No,” said Connie, stepping back. “No, it's fine. Me and Marco. Buds, right?”

“Right,” said Marco, looking just as confused as Jean.

“Shall we go get the kids then?” asked Connie.

“Uh,” said Jean, untangling himself from Sasha. “Sure.”

Sasha jumped up and leant on Connie's shoulder.

Why was she being so touchy-feely? Not that she wasn't usually. Just – not to this extent. It was almost as though she needed constant support. And Connie just looked mad as she did it. He crossed his arms and furrowed his brow.

What the hell was going on?

As they traipsed to the kids' cabins, Connie and Sasha walking in front, not talking to each other, Marco leant over to Jean and whispered, “What's going on with those two?”

Jean bit his lip. “I have no idea.”

“I'm sure – I'm sure they'll be fine. I mean it's Connie and Sasha, right? Everyone knows they'll be OK.”

Jean sighed. He guessed so. But he knew Marco was only trying to make him feel better. “Yeah,” he said.

“So, what's all this about splitting off?” Marco asked nonchalantly. Though something about the way he said it made Jean think this had been playing on his mind.

“Well, usually we split into two groups so that we can find more clues in a shorter space of time.”

“So – we're not hanging out today? Just to clarify. So I can figure out how my day's gonna go.”

“Hm,” Jean slowed down. “I guess we're not together today.”

“Weird,” said Marco.

“Yeah,” agreed Jean. He supposed he had spent every day for the past few weeks with Marco. Every night too. Especially over the past few days. He felt his ears and cheeks growing hot, and tried to stop thinking about it in case anyone, particularly the boy next to him, noticed his blush. “Well, we'll see each other at the end when we pool the clues together to find the main treasure,” he added, trying to stop the situation from getting awkward.

“Oh right! Yeah, that makes sense. And the tent party tonight?”

“Yeah, we can hang out then. If you want.”

Marco opened his mouth to say something, then stopped. Jean looked to him.

“Jean, don't,” he said.

Jean bit his tongue. Then said, “What?” anyway, against all his instincts.

“Don't – make it forced on purpose.”

Jean's eyes flickered towards the woods. He thought about how on that first night Marco had said he'd always wanted to make out in a forest. Why would he remember a stupid detail like that?

“'K,” he said, turning back to face forward.

They didn't talk for the rest of the walk to the kids, and Jean wasn't entirely sure why.

Once they reached the kids, who had just finished breakfast, they herded them into two groups of twenty. Sasha and Marco had a treasure map each and they divvied up the clues they would go seek out, and then decided to set off on their own trails. Jean waved a curt goodbye, and Marco did the same. Connie turned without saying anything.

 _Why is everyone so mad with each other now?_ Jean internally agonised. _How did this even happen?_

“OK!” cried Sasha suddenly, as they tromped through a field. “Who knows any walking songs?”

“I know!” cried one of Sasha's little girls. Sasha and Connie had the eight to nine year olds, the group just younger than Jean's. “It goes like – uhm – like – doo doo dah – uhm – I think.”

“Sounds great!” Sasha fist pumped the air. “Doo _doo_ dahhhhh!”

“It sounds terrible!” came the piercing voice of – well, who else.

“Ellie,” warned Jean, testily.

“I'm just saying. She can't remember the song, so how are we meant to sing along if it doesn't even exist?”

“It does exist! I just … can't remember the words,” retaliated the little girl. Jean silently thanked whatever deity was up there that the girl was able to take Ellie's criticisms. He wasn't sure how to get on a level with crying eight-year old girls.

“How did you say it goes again?” asked Jean. “Doo doo _dah_?”

“No no, like this!” She sang her three notes again, and Jean repeated. Sasha began to sing along, and very soon the whole group of them were singing their own three notes at strange pitches and varying volumes. Even Ellie was joining in, despite her initial reservations over the lack of actual song. It worked well for the five minutes before they were in the area of the first clue.

“OK, guys,” said Sasha, conspiratorially, gathering the kids around her. “This is how it's gonna go down. We're looking for a little key.”

“A key?” asked Jean. This was new info. Usually they just had to find a bag of candy, with an attached note which would be part of a big riddle, and when all the notes were put together they would figure out where the main treasure was.

“Yeah,” said Sasha. “Weren't you listening this morning? It's changed: we have to find five keys, and a box to open with the keys. And then apparently in the box is the _ultimate treasure_!” Sasha rolled her 'r's and gestured dramatically. Jean rolled his eyes. Apparently he hadn't heard the whole of Hanji's speech that morning. Maybe he had fallen asleep during it, without realising. Marco should have woken him up.

Ugh. Marco.

Was Marco really mad at him? He didn't even know. What had he even done? Well, he kind of understood why Marco would be mad at him.

But admitting it to himself would mean admitting that he didn't hate Marco.

Even though he did. Lots and lots.

He hated Marco, and that wasn't going to change.

“But, _why_?” whined a voice next to him.

“I don't fucking know why, OK!” Jean snapped at the voice.

Ellie blinked up at him.

“You just swore,” she accused, her nasally voice filling the surroundings.

“Jean!” yelled Sasha, busy with the other kids as they scrambled all over the area looking for the key. “Don't swear!”

“Oh my God, Ellie, I'm so sorry,” Jean rested his hands on her shoulders and sighed heavily. “Seriously, sorry, I don't know what came over me. What did you want to ask?”

“I was just asking why we have to do this dumb treasure hunt.”

Ellie crossed her arms and her bottom lip shook a little.

“Hey,” said Jean softly. “Are you OK?”

Ellie turned her head over her shoulder, and Jean panicked a little for a moment. _Fuck, fuck, fuck. Don't cry. Don't cry._

“Ellie,” he said, bending down to kneel slightly, bringing himself to her level. “If there is something wrong, you know you can tell me. And if you don't want to talk to me, you can talk to Marco, or Sasha, or Hanji. There are lots of people here to help you.”

“Nope, I'm fine,” she said, and without looking him in the eye she turned away to join Rebekah and Lea.

 _Shit,_ thought Jean. _What is it about today?_

“A _ha_!” screeched one of Sasha's girls. Jean could tell Sasha's noisiness had rubbed off on her wards. “I found it!”

Sasha squealed and most of them rushed over to the little girl, who was holding the key up proudly. Jean leant against the tree nearest to him.

“Wait!” he heard one girl cry. “How do we know that's, you know, the key for the treasure hunt, and not just, like, a random key?”

Jean snorted. She had a point.

“Yeah, like there's going to be casual keys lying about,” replied one girl sarcastically.

“Once in my garden I found four keys in one day, and I don't know what any of them are for,” piped in another girl.

“That's kind of cool. You should go on a quest to find out,” offered another.

“Yes! You wanna come with?”

“Sure!”

Jean wondered how friendship was so easy for people under the age of ten.

“I think this is the key though,” said the girl who had found the key. “Because it says 'Treasure Hunt key number three' on the tag.”

“Woohoo!” yelled Sasha, snatching up the key and thrusting it into the air. Her enthusiasm was contagious and Jean watched as most of the girls also whooped and cheered. “Onto the next one! Who wants to read the map?”

One of the girls jumped in the air with her hand up so Sasha handed the map over to her, grinning.

“I like your enthusiasm,” she said. “Onwards!”

The girl grinned and began to lead the troupe through the trees. Jean decided to stick at the back, deciding he was going to use the excuse that he didn't want to lose any of the kids, even though he knew the chances of them wandering off were just about zilch. Really he just didn't want to talk to anyone. He didn't even want to look at anyone.

“Perk up,” came a voice to his right. Sasha latched onto his arm. “We're supposed to be having fun.”

“Yeah,” said Jean pathetically.

“You wanna talk about it?” asked Sasha after a moment, still smiling.

“Nope,” Jean told her. She nodded and they just continued to walk, Sasha's arm still looped round Jean's.

Jean wasn't one for spilling his thoughts. A lot of the time though, Sasha would come to Jean's house in tears, and neither of them would say anything; Jean would just get out his PlayStation and they would play games until they fell asleep and then the next day Sasha would kiss Jean's head and leave. He liked to think they communicated on a different level, but really he knew that it was just because neither of them would know what to do or say.

So he didn't say anything. Not that he would have known what to say anyway. _Yeah, Sasha, actually, I feel confused because I think Marco's mad at me._

Ugh. Jean felt like such a dumbass. Why did he even care?

What could Sasha even say to make him feel better?

“So, I heard you're really bad at reading maps.”

Well, not that.

“Who said?”

“Marco,” she replied.

Jean flushed.

“He's just as bad,” he told her.

“Yeah, that's what he said too,” said Sasha, giggling.

“When did you even speak to him?”

“The other night, I was having a 3AM wander, and I bumped into him.”

“Wait, what? You were having a 3AM wander? Marco was having a 3AM wander?”

“Yeah, he said he sometimes just wakes up in the middle of the night, and can't get back to sleep.”

“But, I would know-” Jean bit his tongue.

“Not necessarily, Jean – some people actually have the ability to leave rooms really quietly.”

Jean huffed a laugh. At least Sasha knew she was so fucking loud all the time. But wait, did that mean she just called him loud as well?

“The only way you'd know is probably if you were sleeping in the same bed or something, right!” She started to laugh and Jean laughed along awkwardly.

_Fuck._

“Although, you're a super heavy sleeper so even if you are having a whirlwind romance affair with Marco, you'd probably just be snoring while he left you alone.”

“Thanks, Sasha.”

She blinked like she always did when Jean was sarcastic, then smiled.

“But wait, why were you awake?”

“Oh.” She chewed her bottom lip. “Literally no reason. No reason. Just awake.”

Jean furrowed his brow.

“It happens, I guess,” he said, though he squeezed her arm so she would know that he didn't quite believe that there was no reason.

* * *

A lot of mud, at least two falling outs, the subsequent making up, some scraped knees and two-hundred and twenty dirty fingernails later, Jean, Sasha, and their troupe of intrepid adventurer-explorers had managed to uncover keys numbered three, five and two, meaning the others should have hopefully found keys one, four, and the box. They all high-fived and headed off to meet Marco and Connie's group at the meeting place.

“Hey,” said Jean, grinning widely. “We're actually doing pretty well on time.”

“Right!” agreed Sasha, pumping the air with her fist. “Anyone know any celebration songs, guys?”

Jean laughed as the girl who hadn't been able to remember the walking song from earlier put her hand in the air, felt an instant glare from Ellie, and lowered her hand.

“We shouldn't sing a song!” cried one of the girls. “It'll jinx it. We can't celebrate yet!”

“She makes a good point, Sash,” Jean said matter-of-factly. Sasha sighed dramatically and threw her hands up in the air.

“Well, fine, if no one else wants to have fun!”

“We could sing a song about not finishing the treasure hunt yet, Sasha!”

“Good idea, kid,” she said, clucking her tongue in thought. “OK, how would such a song go?”

Her question was met with twenty blank faces.

“Oh, come on, you guys!” She put her hands on her hips. “Where's your imaginations?”

“I left mine at home!” yelled one girl.

Jean smiled contentedly. He had forgotten all about why he had been feeling so weird. Kind of. A little bit. Except not really at all. He still felt horrible for making Marco mad, and it frustrated him because he didn't want to care. He didn't want to care that he upset Marco. He didn't want to need to fix it. He didn't want to need to hear Marco's laugh again.

God fucking damnit.

“You OK there, Jeany babes?” asked Sasha, prodding him in his side.

He flinched away.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm fine,” he replied, waving her away.

She chuckled to herself as they reached the meeting place. Just in the distance Jean could see Connie's head bobbing about – was he on top of the picnic table? He appeared to be talking loudly to all the boys. And as they got a little closer, there _he_ was. His hair was shining in the sunlight, and his freckles stood out even from the distance.

It felt like it had been a long time since Jean had last seen Marco.

_Ugh._

“And, that is why you should never fall in love,” Jean caught Connie saying as he finished up his speech.

“What the heck are you on about, Springer?” asked Sasha, butting in.

Connie glowered for a moment, and then appropriated a more nonchalant pose.

“Oh, nothing. Just teaching important life lessons. I'm sure you and Jean know _all_ about it.”

Sasha snorted. “What?”

Marco stepped in.

“Ahem,” he said. “So – uh, did you find all your keys?”

He smiled warmly at Sasha and Jean felt his tummy bubble a little.

“Yeah, we did,” said Jean, pushing towards Sasha before she could reply. “Two, three and five, right?”

Marco's smile fell and he turned to look at Jean for a moment, and after apparently studying Jean's face for a moment or two, he just said, “Sure.”

Jean felt his stomach drop.

Marco was still staring at Jean, as though willing him to retort back.

Jean cleared his throat. “Good. Well – well, we got them.”

Marco's jaw twitched and its movement made Jean jump slightly. Marco huffed a laugh and put his head in his hand.

“God, you're so – grah! Jean.”

He turned away from Jean to walk towards Connie, where he and many of the kids were figuring out how to unlock the box.

“Are you still mad at me?” asked Jean, regretting it as soon as he said it.

Marco kept walking.

“Yep, pretty much,” he said, waving a hand.

“OK...” Jean replied, feeling very small and lonely.

* * *

It took them ten minutes to fully figure out how to unlock the box. Jean was not impressed. It was literally a box with five padlocks on it, and it took them ten minutes to try out all the keys. He wondered if Sasha and Connie's lack of communication had played a part in it. Connie even snapped at Sasha at one point, which sent her away from the box and from Connie, and to Jean. They sat on a bench a little way off, watching Connie and Marco and a few of the eager kids, feeling a little like outcasts.

Eventually the box was opened and they called everyone over. Most of the children had been laid out on the grass in the midday heat, but they leapt up when they heard that the clue was finally out of the box.

“What's in it?” yelled Ellie, and for once Jean was glad for her piercing voice. It felt like normality in what was otherwise a very strange and distant situation.

“There is,” announced Marco. “A key, and a slip of paper with a riddle on it.”

“So,” said another kid. “What does that mean?”

“The riddle will tell us where we have to go, right?” said another kid.

“Right,” said Marco. “At least, that's what it looks like.”

“What's the riddle though!” yelled Ellie, and Jean could feel her getting increasingly frustrated. He understood her pain.

“Here,” said Marco to a boy nearby, and passed the sheet over.

The boy took the paper and began to read the riddle out.

“Below you I am always.  
Although not when you're below me.  
Sometimes I have a washing machine inside me.  
Except when I don't.  
My walls are made of concrete,  
Except above they're made of wood.  
Not very warm unless the radiators are on  
Then I am.”

There was silence around the group.

Someone had to say it.

“What the hell was that?” Jean piped up.

“Probably the worst riddle I've ever heard,” muttered one girl.

“Does anyone have an answer though?” asked Connie, staring hard at the piece of paper from behind the boy's back. The boy himself was looking thoroughly disgusted with himself for saying those words out loud. Marco was pulling a very confused face.

Jean sighed loudly. Marco's confused face was cute. Jean blinked. Did he really just think that? He was too drained to even argue with himself.

“Have you checked to see if it's acrostic?” asked Rebekah, which made Marco jump up a little and go to check.

“Damn, girl,” muttered Sasha. “What does acrostic even mean?”

“Like – the letters on the side … make a word?” replied Rebekah.

Marco was grinning widely. “Guys! It spells out 'basement'!”

“What basement?” asked Connie.

“Does the HQ building have a basement?” asked Sasha loudly.

“Oh!” cried Marco. “It definitely does! I once got lost in there, and ended up in it. It's – It's kind of creepy. I don't know what sort of treasure we'll find down there.”

“Well, let's just _go_. Come on! What if another group has found their keys?” Sasha sprang to her feet. “Let's do this! Go, go, go!”

She harried the kids who were still on the floor to their feet, and began pushing them on the path towards the HQ building. Jean hurried after at the back, with Marco and Connie leading the way at the front.

“Hey Jean!” Sasha punched his arm lightly. “You know, I think we might actually win this year!”

“Yeah, maybe,” he said.

“OK, just – be a downer then.” She set her jaw and walked ahead of him to talk to some of her kids.

Jean held a hand out to her but let it drop. “Sasha,” he said, pathetically. He didn't want to fall out with his friends. With a horrible and crashing realisation he remembered that Sasha too was having a bad time, and he still had no idea why. But she was still trying to act cheerful, and Jean didn't even have the decency to pretend he was happy too for her sake.

He groaned.

“What's up, Jean?”

He looked down and saw Ellie looking up at him.

“You know what, Ellie,” he said, taking a deep breath. “So many things are up. So many.”

“I know, right,” she agreed, and they spent the rest of the walk to the HQ building in a companionable silence.

Once they got to HQ, where it was eerily quiet for once, without the usual telltale sounds of Hanji screeching or Levi's aggressive cleaning up, Marco led them through the internal maze that was its system of corridors. Somehow, against all odds, they managed to find the door to the basement.

“Would you like to do the honours?” asked Marco to a small boy beside him, handing over the key. The kids were all gathered around, jumping up and leaning on their tiptoes, trying to get a glimpse as to what might be the treasure, forty of them smushed into the narrow corridor around the door. Jean slouched comfortably behind them all, against the wall, just waiting for it to all be over. Once they got the treasure, they would eat lunch. Then they would get the afternoon off, and Marco would probably leave him to go off with Mina and the others. And then there would be the tent party, and Jean would probably just sit by himself again – and for once, he really did not want to.

He wanted to sit with Marco, and laugh with him and make stupid jokes and play dumb games and it wasn't that Jean didn't want to be on his own. It was more like he didn't want to be without Marco.

He folded his arms, crossly.

To his right he could hear the kid put the key in the door, and unlock it.

 _“I cannot fucking believe you didn't fucking think to bring a fucking key into the fucking basement when you_ knew _it had an automatic lock. What if no one completes the treasure hunt?”_

_“It just adds to the excitement, Levi! Hey, is that a light?”_

From the depths of the basement came the reassuring sounds of responsible adults.

Then the sound of someone rushing up the steps.

“Hey, you guys!” cried Hanji at the door, opening her arms wide. “You did it! Well done, you've won the prize! Get in!” She immediately turned on her feet and began to galumph back downstairs.

Jean cast a brief glimpse at Marco, who automatically did the same to Jean. They shrugged at each other, confused, and Marco turned to follow Hanji inside. Jean inwardly celebrated at Marco forgetting to be mad at him even if it was just for a moment.

He followed the kids, Marco, Connie, and Sasha down into the basement, where whatever was lying there was met with “oohs” and “aahs”. Jean waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. Before him in the large room was a long table surrounded by chairs and covered in brightly coloured paper plates and napkins, and beside it a huge buffet table. Hanji beamed.

“Do you like it? This is the prize – you all get a proper feast,” she announced. “Look how fun this is!”

It did look pretty fun, Jean supposed. There were balloons and confetti and streamers and poppy music playing from a speaker system. Plus the food looked amazing. They began to shuffle into a queue in order to put food on their plates.

In his melancholic state on the way over to the table with his plate of food, Jean hadn't realised he had inadvertently managed to get the seat directly opposite Marco. As soon as he hit the chair, Jean looked up and there he was, Marco, about to fall asleep, his head held up by his hand.

Jean coughed loudly, and Marco jumped up, nearly knocking his plate off the table. He looked around himself sheepisly and finally caught eye contact with Jean. He looked tired and sad. Jean turned away hastily, and saw Sasha and Connie sitting at opposite ends of the table. They both looked tired and sad too. Jean wondered that he probably looked the same.

He stared back down to his food. Jean kind of wished he had more of an appetite.

Although as he began to tuck in, he realised that he did have an appetite, and a big one. Having not eaten since early in the morning, it felt good to stuff his face with little triangle sandwiches and mini scotch eggs.

“Why is everything so tiny, right?” he said jokingly to Marco, who just looked offendedly at him.

Jean took a sip of water, wracking his brain, trying to figure out what he could say to make things better.

When he looked back across the table, Marco was just staring at him.

“What?” asked Jean, wondering if there was something on his face.

“Nothin',” replied Marco. “I'm just tired. Sorry.”

“Um,” said Jean, still desperately trying to think of something. “Who do you think wrote that riddle? Terrible, right?”

Marco shrugged. “I overheard Hanji say that it was written by Levi.”

“Well, that would explain why it was so bad then.”

Marco paused, then looked up at Jean again. He was chewing on his lip, looking as though he wanted to say something, but not quite managing it.

“I think I'm going to go for a nap,” he finally decided on.

“Oh,” said Jean as Marco scraped his chair back and got up. “OK,” he said as he watched Marco leave the room. “Sure,” he said as he looked back to his plate and wished the ground would swallow him up.

He looked around, picking apart the little sandwich in his hands. Connie was at one end of the table looking very disgruntled, savagely picking apart his own sandwich. Jean hurriedly put his own down, hoping he hadn't looked as vicious as Connie did. He turned his head to look at the other end, where Sasha was eating at a speed Jean hadn't realised even she was capable of. A little girl was trying to talk to her at the same time, and Sasha nodded occasionally, but Jean could tell her attention was far, far away.

He sighed heavily, resting his head on his hand.

_How am I going to fix this?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yEP. yep ok yep. i don't really know what to say. that chapter summary may have been a bit misleading if you have a gross mind like mine. but it's the hump because they've fallen out and because i had trouble writing it goshdarnit. EVERYONE'S CONFUSED AND SAD ENJOY.


	8. Caught Up In The Middle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean tries communicating. Key word: tries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you LittleSpoon forevs.
> 
> thank you commenters forevs.
> 
> i'm sorry if i haven't replied to you yet - I am getting round to it!!!! i just want you to know it is not because i don't care or anything dumb like that, i'm still just balancing my time and figuring out the best way to do that. but i will reply because i care so so so much about the things you say, and i appreciate any words you take time out to give me. so much gosh.

Once again, Jean found himself sat alone while others had fun around him. He sipped on his beer bottle and looked into the darkling forest, filled with teenagers preparing for a drunken night, having spent the afternoon hanging out together and getting ready for their weekend off. Jean, on the other hand, had spent the afternoon laid uncomfortably on his own bed, swathed in his own self-loathing, looking over to the side and staring at Marco's bed. There had been a spot on it in particular, slightly rumpled, where Marco had failed to neaten the blankets as he left.

Marco hadn't been there, napping, when Jean got back from the feast, and Jean wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or not. He had tentatively inched onto his own bed, not bothering with the covers. Any thoughts of spiders and spider babies had left at least a few nights ago, though he hadn't bothered to stop sleeping in Marco's bed. It was comfy and warm and it meant he woke up at the right time in the mornings. Those were the excuses he had prepared to list off in case anyone found out about it and asked questions.

But he had spent all afternoon with swirling thoughts of guilt and shame, confusion and frustration. Connie and Sasha and Marco played on his mind a lot. Though he had the constant feeling as though he was missing someone; something important. Something other than his own pathetic idiocy. But he just couldn't pin it down. He probably fell asleep for a bit too, because at some point he realised it was time for the party, and he hadn't got ready for anything yet.

He had thrown on a pair of sweatpants, so he would at least be comfortable when – if – he had to sleep in a tent. He could imagine spending the evening simply drinking one beer then heading back to the cabin by himself. That was definitely a scenario he could picture. He just had no energy to even look at people anymore.

He had had to roll up the sweatpants to his knees though, as it was just too hot in the sticky summer evening. He knew he looked like a massive dork, but his apathy had swallowed the ability to give a flying fuck. He slumped heavily against the tree behind him and took another sip of beer.

Somewhere nearby he could hear Connie arguing loudly with Ymir about some video games. He was being a lot more aggressive than usual. Ymir was definitely gaining the upper hand with whatever the squabble was over. On the opposite side of the copse Sasha was talking with some tall brunet guy – Samuel was what Jean was pretty sure his name was. Jeez, he needed to go out and meet people for real. Samuel was leaning over Sasha, and if Jean knew her – which he had to hope, after nearly eighteen years of friendship, even if they were going through a hiccough at the moment, that he did – she was definitely trying to pull some moves on this guy.

It was probably working.

Jean didn't see it personally, but he had been assured that Sasha was really cute and her wide-eyed honesty made her really attractive.

As Samuel leaned down to whisper something in her ear, Jean decided to turn away and focus his attention elsewhere. The vast majority of people had pooled together in one section of the copse and Jean could see Marco laughing at someone else's joke. Jean furrowed his brow and looked down to his beer.

He heard a soft tread approach.

“Jean,” said someone above him.

Jean looked up to see Marco's face looking stern and unforgiving. He was still mad at Jean.

“Yeah?” he replied.

Marco paused a moment. He looked up to the sky, then back down.

“Go talk to Connie.”

“What?”

“Seriously. Go talk to Connie. There's something you really need to discuss with him.”

Jean blinked. Marco rolled his eyes in exasperation.

“Just do it. Trust me on this.”

Jean stared. “O-OK,” he said finally.

“Good,” said Marco bluntly, as though he wasn't really sure what else to say. He dithered for a moment, then said, “Good,” again, and left to rejoin his friends.

Jean stayed sat for a moment or two before gingerly putting his bottle of beer down next to him and laboriously dragging himself to his feet. He brushed himself down slightly, and set off in the direction of an increasingly frustrated sounding Connie.

“Hey man,” he said, interrupting Connie midway through his tirade at Ymir, who was just laughing nastily, leant against a tree.

“ _What_?” spat Connie, turning round to see who was talking. “Oh,” he said when he saw Jean. “You.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” asked Jean, wondering whether he could really get through a whole conversation at this level of fatigue with Connie at this level of hormonal baby.

“Nothing. I just thought you'd be hanging out with someone else.”

Jean flushed. Did he mean Marco? Because he didn't just spend _all_ his time with Marco. Besides, Marco was mad at him. Was that why Marco was mad at him? Had Jean been keeping him from his other friends? No, Marco wouldn't get angry about that. He would just walk away. He would just explain what was wrong to Jean. Why couldn't he explain what was wrong to Jean? Why couldn't _Connie_ , whom he had known for fifteen years, just explain what was wrong?

“Look,” he said, “I don't know what you're talking about, but you've been in a foul mood for a really long time now and you need to tell me what's up.”

“Oh, have I? Have I, Jean? Thank you for noticing.”

Connie's eyes were wide, but furious.

“Just – tell – me – what – is – wrong,” cried Jean, exasperated. This probably wasn't the way Marco had envisioned the talk between Jean and Connie would go down, but Connie was being really aggressive for no reason, and Jean wasn't having any of it.

Ymir had thrown her arms up in the air by this point, claiming, “This is horseshit,” and leaving to go find others. Probably Christa.

“No. Fuck you. Why the fuck should I tell you what's wrong? There isn't even – did Marco tell you?”

“No! Marco just said I should talk to you. Don't blame him!” Jean felt his anger flare at Connie blaming Marco. “He didn't do anything, he's just trying to help.”

“Well, it's none of his business – he shouldn't even-”

“Connie, there's clearly something going on with you right now and Marco saw that and if you told him anything then he was _obviously_ going to tell me to talk to you because you're meant to be my best friend and best friends are meant to talk to each other when there's something going on. So don't fucking make out like Marco has committed some huge crime!”

Connie quieted.

He lowered his eyes.

Jean punched the tree next to him, releasing the last of his frustration.

“Just tell me what the fuck is wrong.”

There was a short pause.

“It's her,” was what Connie said eventually, his voice soft and cracking slightly.

Jean blinked, confused.

“Her?”

“I know about you and her, Jean.”

What.

_What._

“I-” Jean couldn't figure out how to even word his confusion. “I have no me and her. Who _is_ her?”

“Sasha, Jean! Of course it's Sasha. It's always Sasha. And I love her but she loves you.”

Jean then experienced a very strange reaction to hearing his best friend was in love with his other best friend. His tummy grew warm and he found himself smirking.

“You're in love with Sasha?” he said, the smirk growing.

“Fuck you, man,” Connie seethed.

Jean's brain suddenly caught up and acknowledged the last part of Connie's sentence.

_”But she loves you.”_

Jean's eyes widened.

Holy shit. Holy. Shit.

“Connie, I cannot even begin to explain how wrong you are.”

“What? But I've seen you. She's always cuddling you and touching you, and you – you're the same with her.”

Jean snorted.

“Oh, please. Connie, for fuck's sake. She – touches you way more than she's ever even looked at me. She's been really upset recently, and you haven't noticed?”

“I thought that was just because you were hanging out with Marco too much.” Jean's ears grew hot. “That's where this started. Because she was constantly just talking about you, and how you weren't hanging out with us anymore, and how sad that made her.”

Jean lowered his eyes.

“This is so dumb,” he said, sighing.

They were silent for a moment.

“Connie, Sasha doesn't love me. Oh my God, I cannot believe you have to hear this coming from me. But I'm pretty sure that if you are in love with her, she is in love with you.”

He watched as Connie's fingers trembled slightly. He clamped his hands into fists and lowered his eyes.

“Jean, I just-”

“You should go tell her.”

Jean had suddenly remembered Samuel. What if it was already too late?

“Connie, go tell her. Now. Quickly.”

“But-”

“Don't even fucking question me right now, you fuck. Go tell her.”

“Uh, but-”

Jean cried out in frustration. He grabbed Connie by the backs of his shoulders and began to shove him in the direction of Sasha and Samuel.

Thankfully, they were still just in the flirting stages of the night. Though Samuel was getting horribly close, and Jean knew that if Connie didn't say anything within the next few moments then it would be too late tonight. He would have to tell her some other time, and he probably wouldn't even have the guts.

Although – Jean felt the weight beneath his hands loosen and Connie's shoulders set. He began to march towards Sasha and Samuel.

“Hey!” he cried.

The two turned around.

“You,” he said, pointing at Sasha, and beginning to jog.

“Me?” she asked, confused.

“You!” he yelled, running towards her.

Sasha's face suddenly fixed into realisation, as Connie jumped at her, wrapping his legs around her waist and kissing her full on the mouth. Sasha managed to catch him and she held him up, kissing him back with full reciprocity. Jean would have turned away if it wasn't such a bizarre sight to see. His two best friends making out against a tree. His two best friends. He choked a bit.

Samuel stood awkwardly next to them, completely ignored. He kept starting to say things, then stopping. Eventually he turned to look at Jean, who shrugged. Samuel ran a hand through his hair before walking off, muttering to himself.

Jean remembered what Connie had said, about Sasha being upset that she didn't get to see Jean so often. So, as he decided it was his cue to leave the two alone, he made a silent promise to spend more time with them for the rest of the summer.

As he walked away, he realised, with a great lift of tension from his shoulders, that his two best friends would no longer be in a weird funk. He had somehow managed to help resolve the situation. Well. With Marco's help. Connie must have spoken to Marco a little during the treasure hunt.

Marco was like that.

It was easy to talk to Marco.

Marco was actually really really great. And cute and funny and kind and understanding.

Jean felt himself speed up a little. He knew what he had to do now. Of course he knew why Marco was mad at him.

Marco was upset because Jean was pretending to hate him, for no good reason – other than to be a stubborn mule.

It had all started because Jean was in a bad mood, and had found out Mikasa wasn't coming to camp. And it turned out that Mikasa not coming to camp was actually a pretty fucking great thing because he got to be with Marco every day – and every night.

And now Jean had fucked up.

He had let it carry on too much and he had upset Marco.

“Why am I such an idiot?” he muttered to himself, as he began to hurry towards the mass of people.

He could see Marco on the outskirts, and made a beeline towards him, pushing through people talking and couples making out. He only had one goal, and that was the boy who was laughing with Mina about something.

He finally reached Marco, who turned round to see a slightly out of breath Jean in rolled up sweatpants and a flushed face.

“J-Jean,” he said. It sounded like more of a question though.

Jean froze. What was he supposed to say?

Both Marco and Mina were looking at him expectantly. There were a few other people there too. Franz and Hannah. All of them were looking at Jean as though he had something to say. And he did – he just couldn't get it into words. And he didn't particularly want to in front of all these people.

“I-I,” he stammered, then stopped. “OK, just thought I'd let you know that Connie and Sasha are together now and making out by that tree- oh my God, they've gone, well they're probably not far away. Oh my God they're probably having sex somewhere. Oh God. OK, all right. That's just – just what I wanted to tell you. OK. Bye.”

He walked away unsteadily and further into the trees, so he could hide in his cringing shame and embarrassment.

_What the fuck is wrong with me?_

He settled against a tree stump, and curled up, tucking his knees under his chin, wrapping his arms around them. He was pathetic. He had no excuse as to why he was such a dick to Marco. No excuse whatsoever. He couldn't just apologise, and expect Marco to forgive him, so what would be the point in the first place? The woods were completely dark now, and Jean decided to just stay there a while. He forgot to bring a flashlight.

After a few moments he heard that soft tread walking towards him.

He curled up further, hoping he wouldn't be seen. Whoever it was had a phone or something they were using to light their way though, and found Jean pretty quickly.

They sat down next to him, leaning against the stump too. Their broad shoulder awkwardly shoved up against Jean's. A bit of fidgeting though, and they managed to make it more comfortable.

Jean turned to see Marco looking straight ahead, into the trees, playing with the torch on his phone, making it flicker.

What Jean wouldn't give to just be able to _say_ what he wanted to say. He just wanted it to go back to normal.

“Hey,” said Marco, still not looking at Jean.

Jean paused. Marco had ditched his friends to come see him. Why.

“Hey,” he replied morosely.

There was a heavy silence.

“So,” said Marco. “What are you doing out here?”

Jean shrugged. “Just – enjoying nature.”

Marco nodded.

There was another silence. It was completely quiet and still except for the distant sounds of the others at the party enjoying themselves.

Marco let out a great sigh. “Ugh,” he said, a hand to his forehead. When he looked back up he turned to Jean and was smiling bashfully. Jean's tummy did multiple flips at how, in the light of his phone, he looked so perfectly like Marco in that moment. His hair was somewhat tussled and his cheeks were slightly pink from the alcohol he had been drinking. His smile was bright and happy and it was the best thing that Jean had experienced all day, even if it was such a small smile. “So, on a scale of one to ten, how happy are you at winning the treasure hunt?”

Jean felt his own face light up. Marco was talking to him again. He couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. Marco was talking to him again.

“I'm sorry,” he said quickly. Before he could think of an excuse not to. “I'm really, really fucking, really sorry.”

“You're sorry?” asked Marco, suddenly beaming as well.

“For everything. It was the stupidest I've ever been.”

Jean looked to Marco pleadingly.

“OK,” said Marco, smiling and nodding. “OK.”

He laughed.

“No, really, I'm really sorry, I'm so sorry,” repeated Jean. He knew Marco looked as though he had forgiven him, but he didn't quite trust his judgement yet.

“I know, Jean, I know,” said Marco, putting his hand on Jean's arm.

“I'm really sorry,” whispered Jean, looking away.

“Seriously, Jean, if I was still upset, you'd know. I couldn't pretend to hate you even if I tried,” he huffed a laugh. “And I mean, I did. I tried. But it was really hard. It only lasted, like, a day? Not even that.”

“Today has been a long day though,” said Jean.

“Well, you get my point anyway. You're hard for me to hate,” Marco said, rubbing his thumb across Jean's arm, where he still had his hand.

Jean felt a small smile on his face.

“I'm the worst person,” he said. “I tried to hate you for a lot longer.”

“Eh, you're not completely awful,” said Marco, finally patting Jean's arm and removing his hand. Jean sighed at the loss of warmth. “You're OK, I guess.”

He turned and smiled happily at Jean, who returned the smile.

“Hey,” he said suddenly. “What were you saying about Connie and Sasha?”

“Holy shit, yeah!” cried Jean, the full impact of what had just occurred hitting him. “They're definitely up to no good right now. Connie and Sasha. Shit.”

“Good thing though, right?” asked Marco.

“Y-Yeah, probably,” laughed Jean. “I mean – they've sort of always been together. I just don't think they realised it, you know?”

“Well, I'm glad,” said Marco, playing with his phone again. The light flickering on and off his face, his freckles barely visible. “Connie told me all about how he was in love with someone today, and that they were in love with someone else and it was obviously you and Sasha. You're not in love with Sasha, are you?”

Jean snorted.

“No,” he said firmly.

“Good,” said Marco. He laughed. “I just mean – just because then you won't be upset about Connie and Sasha together.”

“No worries there,” Jean replied. “I just hope they don't start acting all coupley while they're around me. That would be so annoying.”

“Well if they do, you just need to get them back by acting coupley with someone else,” said Marco, grinning.

“Ugh. Being in a couple though. It's just – so – ugh.”

“I like being in a couple,” said Marco lightly. “You know somewhere you've always got back up, wherever you go. And it makes you feel really good about yourself and it's nice. I mean, not that I _need_ to be with anyone. But – it's, just, nice.”

“I don't think I've ever been in a relationship like that,” said Jean. “That sounds functional.”

Marco turned to Jean, his eyes wide, mouth slightly open. He looked sad at Jean's words, but Jean got the feeling he was a little spaced out too.

“Marco,” said Jean, trying not to chuckle. “How drunk are you right now?”

“Um, like this much,” said Marco, gesturing a small amount with his thumb and forefinger.

“I think it's more like – this.” Jean put his own fingers between Marco's, and stretched them out, making the amount a lot bigger.

“That's a lie and you know it,” laughed Marco, getting up. He reached down and offered a hand to Jean. “C'mon. Let's go. Then you can be as _tipsy_ as I am. Not drunk. Tipsy.”

“Like hell, Freckles,” smirked Jean, taking Marco's hand and following him towards the sounds of the party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL THAT WAS A LOT HAPPIER GOOD
> 
> it's a short chappie-doo, but stuff is actually happenin g and it's not super depressing huzzah


	9. Of a Headache and a Heartbreak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teenagers drinking responsibly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *makes a sad pathetic joke about how this chapter's been a long time coming*
> 
> ok so as some of you might know if you've been following my epic essay saga on tumblr or have been reading some comments on this, i got hellishly caught up with deadlines and essays and that meant we had a month-long hiatus. basically I'm really sorry about this! it shouldn't happen again for a long time (if ever!) but definitely not by the end of this particular fic.
> 
> but if by some crazy random happenstance it does, i will usually put something up on the sunday or the monday on my tumblr (wren-natsworthy) tagged under jeanmarco, so that's the place to go for info!
> 
> so once again, sorry for the delay - and thank you for sticking with it if you're here reading now!!
> 
> anyway, once again mega thanks to LittleSpoon for making sure it's legible etc. <3

Jean groaned, laughing, as he was persuaded to drink yet another shot.

“You gotta do it, man,” slurred Mina. “Down _it _!” she yelled with a gleeful punch to his arm. He was pretty sure she'd actually swung quite hard but he was at that blissful, light-headed stage of drunkenness where he couldn't quite feel any pain.__

__He knocked back the shot and grimaced at the coconut and that heavy flavour which accompanied it. He heard Mina giggle, presumably at the face he had pulled, although at her stage of drunkenness it really could have been at anything._ _

__“I hate Malibu,” he complained, coughing, and leaning his forehead to Marco's shoulder. Marco petted Jean's head, pulling him closer._ _

__“Oh, poor baby,” cooed Marco, patting Jean. Jean narrowed his eyes in offense._ _

__“Dick,” he muttered. He turned to look up to pull a face at him, but Marco had turned away, and was starting an animated conversation with Tomas about Pokémon. His arm was still around Jean's neck though, warm hand resting on the side of Jean's head, absentmindedly scratching at his hair. Jean decided to let him be for a while – the feeling wasn't unpleasant. He may have even bobbed his head closer but Marco didn't seem to make any acknowledgement, just briefly brushed his thumb against Jean's ear by accident._ _

__Jean leant against Marco a little longer, relishing in the comfort. He could hear Marco's steady heartbeat and could feel the movement of the muscles on his side. He smelt familiar and warm. He sighed happily and sunk further into Marco's cushiony half-hug._ _

__Marco noticed this time though, and turned his head to look down at Jean suddenly. Jean blushed._ _

__“What?” he asked, feeling his face pull into a scowl, as he refused to move, but tried to act like he hadn't just done a very good impression of a swooning maiden._ _

__Marco blinked at him, no particular emotions registering on his face._ _

__“You're like a cat, Jean,” he said eventually._ _

__Jean sat up, confused._ _

__“What?”_ _

__Marco laughed, and shrugged. Without Jean to occupy his arm, he lifted his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them instead._ _

__“Like,” he began, but apparently struggling to think of anything to add to his previous statement. “Like a cat. Just snuggling up, and then snapping suddenly.”_ _

__“That's not what cats are like,” said Jean, crossing his arms, just for the sake of being contrary. He knew full well one of his own cats was exactly like that._ _

__Marco dazed out for a moment, and Jean tried to pretend he didn't care that he wasn't paying attention to him. He grabbed a beer from the centre of the circle they were sat in and looked around at the group. There were about seven of them left outside, sat around chatting and drinking still in the light of the shitty electric lanterns which were dotted around. A few people were using their phones to light up their immediate area a little better, but it didn't really make much of a difference. The rest of the counsellors had retired to the ramshackle tents behind them. The tents were a mixture of ones brought by counsellors and ones the camp happened to own, and Jean was just hoping that when he went to bed he would find one that didn't smell of child vomit._ _

__Over the way someone was talking about how one of the counsellors had gotten injured during the treasure hunt that day and gone home. Jean could understand; they had had to do a great amount of climbing and digging to complete the quest, but still he was smug in that they had managed to do it in record time._ _

__Jean leant back on his hand and sipped on his beer. He wasn't sure how hangovers worked but he assumed that drinking beer then spirits then beer was probably a bad idea. But hey, he was going to get a hangover from hell whatever the case, so what the heck._ _

__“I hate cats,” Marco replied finally._ _

__Jean furrowed his brow._ _

__“Is that really what you were thinking about for all that time?” he asked, nudging himself closer to Marco._ _

__“Uh,” said Marco. Jean saw his ears redden slightly. “Yeah.”_ _

__Jean's brow furrowed deeper._ _

__“How dare you,” he whispered._ _

__“What?” Marco asked, eyes widening with concern._ _

__“Cats are the most precious commodity we have on this goddamn earth,” Jean told him._ _

__Marco stared into Jean's face for a moment. Then began to laugh. Jean prodded his shoulder._ _

__“Oi,” he said._ _

__Marco looked up at Jean again, before bursting into the laughter once again._ _

__“What!” cried Jean, putting the can of beer down._ _

__“Jean,” wheezed Marco, clutching his stomach. “Jean, you are just so serious.”_ _

__Jean huffed, but couldn't stop the corners of his mouth from lifting ever so slightly._ _

__“Fuck you, Marco,” he said as casually as possible, taking another swig of beer. “You'd probably hate my house.”_ _

__Marco wiped a tear from his eye, letting a few giggles slip past before speaking again. “Oh?”_ _

__“We have three cats,” Jean told him, side-eyeing Freckles._ _

__“Yeah, I probably would hate it,” he replied._ _

__Jean smacked his arm lightly._ _

__“Ow! What?” asked Marco, laughing and rubbing the offended limb._ _

__“You're _supposed_ to say, 'Don't be silly, Jean, of course I would like your house!'”_ _

__Marco rolled his eyes and leant back on his hands. “I'm _so_ sorry, Jean, I don't know what came over me. What I meant to say just then was that I am absolutely positive I would love and adore your wonderful home because I just love every single thing about you.” He propped himself back up and flashed Jean a smile._ _

__Jean tried not to laugh at Marco's chuckling face, but he couldn't help a loud, “ha!” from escaping. He blushed hard, not sure whether he was embarrassed at Marco's statement, or from his escaped laugh. Marco smiled broadly._ _

__“I made you laugh,” he said._ _

__“Yeah,” said Jean. “Here is your prize.”_ _

__He offered his empty hands._ _

__Marco shrugged. “I like it when I make you laugh,” he said._ _

__“How drunk _are_ you?” asked Jean, grinning._ _

__“Not as drunk as you,” replied Marco, nudging him. Jean swayed heavily and would have fallen all the way down had he not caught himself at the last moment. He smiled, and admitted defeat._ _

__“You should come visit my house one day,” said Jean._ _

__“OK,” replied Marco._ _

__They sat in an inebriated stupor for a few moments, silently watching the world._ _

__Jean awoke from the trance abruptly as a huge hand clapped down on his shoulder. He heard Marco yelp, and figured the same had happened to him. Suddenly Reiner's face was thrust between the two of them._ _

__“Did you not hear? We're playing dares. Get your butts up. Annie's about to go steal someone's underwear.”_ _

__Marco looked horrified._ _

__“Not yours, Bodt,” laughed Reiner, clapping his shoulder again before turning away._ _

__Marco rubbed his shoulder where he had essentially been slapped twice._ _

__“Ow,” he whined. Jean chuckled._ _

__“ _Not yours, Bodt,_ ” he mocked gently, hoping Reiner wouldn't hear._ _

__“Whose underwear though?” asked Marco, still looking somewhat aghast._ _

__Jean stood up and brushed himself up quickly before extending a hand to Freckles and lifting him up too. They stood with the others to watch Annie make her way towards the tents._ _

__“Just the person whose underwear is the easiest to steal I guess,” replied Jean, shrugging. He let go of Marco's hand, realising he'd been holding it just a moment too long. He flexed his fingers in the hope that it would seem as though he just didn't have much control over that hand – or something._ _

__“Have you never worked a day in your life?” Jean asked as they watched Annie choose her victim's tent._ _

__“What?”_ _

__“Your hands are really soft. Like – so soft. Like baby hands soft.” Jean thought for a moment, and looked up to Marco. “Like _hand model_ soft.”_ _

__“How soft?” asked Marco jokingly, nudging Jean's side._ _

__“Seriously, though.”_ _

__“I dunno, I use hand cream sometimes?”_ _

__“Marco, are you even real?”_ _

__“They just get dry a lot, if you really must know! And my sister gave me the hand cream because it was on sale. Don't you judge me.”_ _

__“OK, OK, not judging you.” Jean didn't try to hide the snarky smile on his face, knowing Marco was smiling too._ _

__Shortly, Annie shimmied through the tent flap, brandishing a pair of bright orange boxers with green dinosaurs on them and the small hint of a victorious smirk._ _

__“Oh my God,” whispered Jean._ _

__“What is it?” asked Marco._ _

__“Those are Connie's.”_ _

__Marco spluttered. “How do you know?”_ _

__“You don't know what your friends' underwear looks like?”_ _

__“No, Jean,” said Marco, trying hard not to laugh._ _

__“I fucking hate my friends.” Jean shook his head, bemoaning the number of times he had seen Connie and Sasha's underwear._ _

__“Did he see?” whisper-yelled Reiner through his guffaws._ _

__Annie shook her head. “He was preoccupied,” she smirked. The smirk was quickly eliminated from her face as a disgruntled Connie began scrambling at the tent flap and finally emerged wearing Sasha's dress very haphazardly._ _

__Jean and Marco looked up, slackjawed, waiting to see how the scene in front of him was about to unfold._ _

__“What the hell, man?” yelled Connie to Annie, who froze and thrust the underwear back out towards Connie at arm's length. Reiner was beside himself laughing, he was practically pounding his fists on the floor, his guffaws reaching such a decibel as to wake up anyone within a ten mile radius. Jean heard Marco let out a few nervous sounding chuckles. Connie looked around to the audience that was apparently watching him. “Wait …” he said. “What's going on?”_ _

__Annie had apparently gotten over the initial shock of Connie popping out of a tent in a summer slip and had decided to simply chuck his boxers on top of the tent._ _

__“We're doing dares!” cried Mina, as Reiner was incapable of speech by this point._ _

__There was a rustle and suddenly Sasha's head popped out._ _

__“Dares?!” she cried._ _

__She leapt out of the tent in a bra and Connie's shorts._ _

__Marco stifled a laugh._ _

__“What?” asked Jean._ _

__“Well, I mean, in your defence from earlier, Jean,” he said. “We've all seen Connie and Sasha's underwear now."_ _

__“I guess I'm used to it at this point.”_ _

__Jean sighed happily. He _had_ known Sasha since he was a baby; he figured maybe it would be weird if they weren't comfortable parading about nearly naked in front of each other. He scrunched up his face. _Ew._ Nope. He would much rather they were uncomfortable about that._ _

__With the addition of Connie, Sasha, and various people who had poked out of their tents upon hearing all the ruckus, Reiner's game of dares upped the ante, and included various highlights such as Connie being rescued by Marco when he climbed a tree too high, Mina giving Bertl a lap dance, and Armin eating grass._ _

__Finally, they returned to their little circle they had started out with, though this time with a few more people about. Reiner, the ringleader of the whole event, clapped his hands on his crossed knees and announced that they were going to play Spin the Bottle. A few people threw their hands in the air and declared they were done for the night._ _

__Jean, knowing he had a sloppy smile on his face, looked to Marco who was sat next to him and seemed perfectly happy to stay and play Spin the Bottle, so Jean guessed he was too. He looked across at the circle, silently deciding who he hoped he would get and who he hoped he really would not get. They began with Reiner who spun and got Mina. Mina giggled and blushed as Reiner wiggled his eyebrows at her, before leaning over a few other players to peck her on the lips._ _

__Mina took the bottle and spun next, hers landing on Marco. She squealed happily, and shuffled over to where Jean and Marco were sat. Throwing one arm round his neck, she kissed Marco full on the mouth, laughing. Jean watched carefully; the way Marco's hand went to her wrist, and he barely leant into the drunken kiss. He reminded himself they were best friends. Marco ruffled Mina's hair as she pulled away, grinning, and took the bottle from her to spin._ _

__Jean watched as the glass bottle spun, reflecting soft light into his eyes. It landed on Christa, who squeaked slightly, then looked at Marco, smiling. Marco looked happy at first, but then his mouth quickly drew into a line, and he leant back._ _

__“Um,” he said. “I'm out.”_ _

__“What!” cried Reiner. Christa looked confused. Jean's jaw dropped._ _

__“I'll do the forfeit or whatever, it's OK – I'm out.”_ _

__Reiner waved his hand. “I can't think of a forfeit. You're free for now, Marco.”_ _

__Jean elbowed him in the ribs. “What is wrong with you?” he hissed. “It's _Christa_.”_ _

__Marco flushed slightly and shrugged._ _

__“That's not the issue,” he whispered._ _

__“Well, what is?” Jean whispered conspiratorially back._ _

__Marco nodded towards Christa, and next to her Ymir, who was glaring over at everyone, one arm looped round the back of the small blonde._ _

__“You jellyfish,” said Jean, and realised that he had slurred his words a bit._ _

__Marco looked over to him._ _

__“I'm sorry – I'm a what?”_ _

__“A jellyfish. Hey look, it's my turn!”_ _

__He snatched the bottle from the middle in the confusion, before Marco could make fun of him for his drunken insults. Once the attention was back on him, he spun, and waited with bated breath. He picked at his nails as the nose of the bottle passed each person. _Not Connie, not Sasha, not Ymir,_ maybe _Christa – oh too late, not Bertl, not Reiner, not Mina, not Annie, not Tomas, not Hannah, not Franz._ It passed Marco and Jean. _OK, not Connie, not Sasha, not Ymir,_ please _Christa – too late again, not Bertl, not Reiner, not Mina, not – oh fuck.__ _

__It stopped at Annie._ _

__She looked at the bottle, and quirked an eyebrow._ _

__Jean bit his lip._ _

__“Um,” he said. “I'm out too.”_ _

__Annie smirked and turned to say something to Mina, who giggled. Jean narrowed his eyes._ _

__“Who's a jellyfish now, Jean?” commented Marco in his ear. Jean leapt back a little from the close contact, and rubbed the back of his neck._ _

__“Whatever,” he muttered. The others were picking the game back up without them. “Hey, I'm kind of tired.”_ _

__“Wanna go find a tent?”_ _

__“Yeah, sure!”_ _

__As they got up, Jean thought about how earlier that day the idea of being able to sleep snugly in the same space as Marco again had been a mere dream. His tummy flipped with excitement._ _

__“Hey, so – I can still sleep with you?” he said woozily, nearly tripping over a tree root as Marco went from tent to tent, trying to find one that wasn't occupied or smelt dodgy._ _

__Marco popped his head out from one of them. “Yeah! Oh man, I was so worried we wouldn't be able to earlier today because I was supposed to be mad with you, but you're so comfy. Please do sleep with me!”_ _

__Jean pursed his lips in as his brain processed Marco's tipsy words. Marco was the first one to laugh._ _

__“Oh my God, I need to think about what I say before I say it.”_ _

__Jean flushed, and kicked the backs of Marco's knees with his own knee gently._ _

__“I wouldn't sleep with someone who doesn't like cats anyway,” he said, and Marco shuddered dramatically._ _

__“Guess we're never sleeping together.”_ _

__“Ha.”_ _

__Finally, the fourth tent Marco found was the jackpot – it didn't smell of cat piss, child vomit, or any other sort of bodily fluids. Marco shuffled inside, and let out a victory sigh. “This is the one,” he said, his voice slightly muffled by the canvas, before he held the door flap open for Jean to crawl in too. Jean grimaced as he attempted to muscle his legs into the small space too._ _

__“It's a bit cosy, isn't it?” he commented._ _

__Marco shrugged and smiled. “It's homely.”_ _

__He flopped down onto the floor and took out his phone to put the flashlight on. Someone had left a sleeping bag in there earlier, clearly intending to use the tent for themselves. Marco looked at it, biting his lip._ _

__“Oh, just use it,” said Jean. “They were stupid enough to leave it here.”_ _

__“But, Jean-”_ _

__“Hey, look, what a twist – it has just so turned out that this is my sleeping bag,” lied Jean, unrolling it out to make a softer floor for the two of them. There was no need for a blanket over them; the summer nights weren't too cold._ _

__“It's not yours, is it?”_ _

__“It is now. Get down.” Jean patted the space next to him._ _

__Marco gently laid down beside Jean, still nibbling his bottom lip._ _

__“Stop it, I know what that means.”_ _

__“Huh? What?”_ _

__“When you bite your lip – it means you're getting all worried and het up.”_ _

__“Oh. Yeah. I guess.”_ _

__Jean huffed and looked up._ _

__“Well, if whoever owns the sleeping bag comes back – we can give them the bag, and maybe even the tent?”_ _

__“Nah,” said Marco, shuffling and turning on his side to face Jean. “You're right. Assholes leaving their crap in random tents. It's gonna get used. Let's just hope they find it in the morning, right?”_ _

__“That's the spirit!” cried Jean, pumping his fist, and turning over to face Marco too._ _

__They were so close, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It wasn't anything – it was just Marco, and his freckled cheeks and his bumped nose._ _

__“I can't believe you didn't kiss Christa,” Jean said, filling the companionable silence._ _

__Marco breathed a laugh. “Did you see Ymir?”_ _

__“Eh, Ymir's bark is worse than her bite. She's just not as tough as she wants people to think she is.”_ _

__“I suppose.” Marco's eyes looked away to the ceiling for a moment, then back down. “But, I mean, I guess Christa is great and everything, but she's well – oh my God, I'm not going to do this so cliché. I'll just tell you. Hi Jean, I like guys and I've let you sleep in the same bed as me for weeks. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before.”_ _

__“Oh,” said Jean. “Oh.”_ _

__He had had an inkling; from that first night when he had kept looking over to Marco's responses to the Never Have I Ever game. But it hadn't really been anything he'd thought about. He was pretty sure he hadn't anyway._ _

__“Well,” said Jean. “I guess I have a confession too.”_ _

__“What's that?” said Marco, and Jean noticed he was biting his lip again._ _

__“I _have_ slept with someone who hates cats. I know. It goes against all my morals.”_ _

__Marco stopped biting his lip and smiled._ _

__“How could you betray the cats like that?”_ _

__“I know, I know.”_ _

__Jean breathed a sigh through his grin, and wiped a hand over his face._ _

__“She was a bitch. She _is_ a bitch.”_ _

__“Oh?”_ _

__“You probably don't want to know.”_ _

__Marco shifted slightly, moving just slightly closer._ _

__“Yeah, I do. Tell me about her.”_ _

__Jean flopped over onto his back, and stared at the badly lit ceiling of the tent._ _

__“Her name is Hitch, and I've known her since we were like ten? We got together about a year ago – and then had the worst relationship ever, and then split up. Not exactly inspiring.”_ _

__He turned his head to look at Marco, who didn't say anything, just looked on encouragingly._ _

__“We were both just really mean to each other, and – OK, so think of what a nice, healthy relationship is like. Ours was the opposite. Like, we would never take time out for each other, or listen to each other. She would just send me passive-aggressive texts and I would yell at her in the school corridors. It was just – bad. But I guess – I don't know,” Jean paused to swallow. He hadn't been able to talk about Hitch to anyone since they were in the same friendship group, and no one wanted to hear him moan about their friend. “I guess it was nice to begin with. I think we helped each other somehow. You probably won't believe this – but I was once a massive loser.” Marco huffed. “Well at least, you know, I wasn't exactly happy with who I was. And I don't think she was either. And I guess we both turned each other into arrogant assholes, so that's fine with me.”_ _

__“You're not an arrogant asshole,” replied Marco._ _

__“Oh, don't worry about protecting my feelings. You do remember I called you a jerk before I even met you, and then tried to hate you for three weeks?”_ _

__Marco furrowed his brow thoughtfully._ _

__“The thing is, Jean, you're not an arrogant asshole – you might have hecked up with me, but I've seen you with the kids. You think a lot about people; you might think you're all self-centred, but you're not. You're not at all. I think you care a lot.”_ _

__Jean didn't know what to say. After a couple of awkward moments he let out a long and breathy, “ha.”_ _

__“I wouldn't lie about this!” cried Marco._ _

__“You are incapable of lying, you jerk.”_ _

__“Why am I a jerk now?”_ _

__“You can't just – _say_ things like that.”_ _

__“Sorry.”_ _

__“No, shut up – gah. Don't be sorry.” Jean turned back to face Marco. “What about you? Why are you so keen on relationships?”_ _

__“You remembered I said that?”_ _

__“Of course. I thought it was dumb.”_ _

__“You think everything I say is dumb,” Marco joked – or at least, Jean hoped he was joking._ _

__Jean shrugged, smiling._ _

__“Well – there was – is – was – I don't know – this one guy. Really nice and stuff, and we went out for a couple of years. Um, but he's going to college. And he started getting all funny with me. And when I asked him what was up, he started yelling and telling me that we can't be together anymore because he's moving so far away, and – well, it was dumb, but I argued with him about it. I mean, I should've known it was futile, and would have only made him more mad. But I told him we could still be together, and he just sort of – well. We're not together anymore.”_ _

__“Sorry about that.”_ _

__Marco shrugged. But the way his voice had cracked a couple of times, and the red flush on his ears, told Jean that it wasn't as casual as Marco was trying to make it appear._ _

__“It's life. Actually, it's funny. Because that's the reason I was late here. He was supposed to give me a lift, but we broke up like a day before I left, so I had to ask around for a lift – and the only one I could find was my Aunt, who could only drop me off after work. So that's why I was so late.”_ _

__Jean cringed mentally – Marco had broken up with this guy very recently. He thought about how cruel he'd been in that first week, and closed his eyes in shame._ _

__“Oh! So really it's this guy who's the reason Levi got to call me out on the first day. So it's not you I should've hated – but him, right?”_ _

__“I guess,” chuckled Marco._ _

__“Ah, good,” said Jean, falling onto his back again. “I was worried about subconsciously still harbouring some hatred to you, but now that we've cleared that up – I doubt I will.”_ _

__“I'm so glad,” Marco replied jokily, the ghost of a smile on his face._ _

__There was another silence, and Marco shuffled onto his back too, and Jean raised an arm over his head, so their shoulders wouldn't be smushed together. The small tent fit Marco snugly into Jean's side, sharing his warmth. They lay like that for a while, and Jean wondered why he wasn't tired. He was the opposite of tired. His mind was turning a mile a minute, thinking over this mysterious maybe-ex-boyfriend of Marco's life._ _

__“But,” Jean said out loud. Marco shifted to look to his face. “Have you really never seen your friends in their underwear?”_ _

__Marco laughed._ _

__“What? I'm serious.”_ _

__“I guess I've seen a few of my friends in their underwear. You happy now?”_ _

__“A bit.”_ _

__Marco fidgeted back onto his side to look properly at Jean, who did the same._ _

__“What?” he said as Marco stared at him._ _

__“You're so confusing and the truth is I actually really like you. And I think – well, you admitted it so, but I mean – you like me too, Jean- wait, what's your surname again?”_ _

__“Kirschstein.”_ _

__“I think you like me too, Jean Kirschstein.”_ _

__Jean flushed._ _

__“Was that really necessary?” he said, furrowing his brow._ _

__“I think so.”_ _

__Marco was smiling warmly. Jean kept his brow furrowed._ _

__“Wait,” he said slowly. “You didn't know my surname?”_ _

__“Ha,” Marco shrugged, averting his eyes. “I guess not. I do now though. Kitchen or something, right?”_ _

__“Fuck off, Marco.”_ _

__Marco smiled happily, his face so close Jean could feel his breath on his own face and it smelt a little like the cider he had been drinking earlier. It wasn't unpleasant at all. Jean could tell by the soft shine in his eyes that if he said something more Marco would probably laugh. But for once he didn't want to make Marco laugh. He stared at the boy and his freckles and his big brown eyes and his happy face, suddenly captured by a thought. Marco stopped smiling._ _

__“What is i-?”_ _

__But he couldn't finish the word._ _

__Jean lunged forward. He pressed his lips against Marco's. Their noses bumped uncomfortably. Marco gasped slightly against his mouth and Jean pulled back in shock, not really understanding what he had just done._ _

__“Jean,” whispered Marco, dazed and confused._ _

__“Sor-” Jean lost his voice. His throat closed up on his word. He shook his head, trying to figure out where his natural confidence had gone. “Sorry,” he said again. And then again, “Sorry,” as he began to get up in a slight panic._ _

__“Jean,” said Marco, louder this time. And Jean could not translate what that tone in his voice meant._ _

__Jean left the tent, to take a few breaths. He heard Marco shuffle in the tent slightly, but then stay still. He wasn't going to be followed._ _

__He walked for a while, until he was heading further towards where the cabins were, and then decided to stop by a tree. He crouched down and buried his head in his hands. _What the fuck just happened?__ _

__For once Jean had opened up about himself to someone, and Marco had expressed some really personal things to Jean too, and then Jean's mind had gone ahead and recklessly tried to ruin it all._ _

__“ _God_ ,” he whispered to the quiet night air._ _

__“Jean?” it replied._ _

__“Wuh-”_ _

__Jean sprung up from his position._ _

__“Who-”_ _

__He looked up to see a familiar face._ _

__“Mikasa?” he furrowed his brow. “What the fuck? How drunk am I?”_ _

__“Charming.”_ _

__“Why are you here though?” he asked, the initial shock over._ _

__“Someone was injured today so Hanji asked me back, and I decided I could spare some time.”_ _

__“Oh.”_ _

__“I've been sent here to fetch you and some other people now though, so you have to come with me.”_ _

__“What? But – for how long?” Jean looked back to the tents guiltily._ _

__Mikasa shrugged. “Ask Hanji when we get there.”_ _

__“But-” Jean felt sick._ _

__“What?”_ _

__He looked to the ground, confused and frustrated. He hadn't been given enough time to figure things out before he could go back to Marco._ _

__He squeezed his eyes shut._ _

__“Never mind. Lead the way.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eheh
> 
> all that wait for this.
> 
> BUT OH MY GOSH I ESPECIALLY WANT TO TAKE THIS MOMENT TO THANK AMANDA FOR THE BEAUTIFUL FANART OK I'VE LITERALLY NEVER GOT FANART AND WOULD'VE BEEN HAPPY WITH A STICK FIGURE BUT OHHHH MY GOSH AMANDA THESE ARE BEAUTIFUL AND I WILL NEVER BE OVER THIS THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU  
> (art to be found here: http://lickfoot.tumblr.com/post/69103412958)


	10. Clear of the Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Levi doesn't give a shit about your teenage dramas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whaaaaaa once again super sorry for super massive delay but it's here now wah! lots of thansk to LittleSpoon for proof reading!!

The damp warmth of the basement suited the slow growth of muggy thoughts which were moulding and festering around Jean's mind. It was six forty-two in the morning and he was currently around two hours and a bit away from that moment in the tent. That stupid, stupid moment. Jean crushed his eye beneath his hand in second-hand embarrassment of his past self. It was a momentary lapse in mindfulness of the onions he had been chopping. He carelessly flung his knife down, then lingered momentarily, torn between his tearing eye and a sudden remembrance of knife safety, only to watch it clatter on the counter and fall to the floor. Growling, Jean hurriedly shoved away from the counter to leap towards Connie who was washing spuds in the sink.

“Give me the water,” he cried.

“Jean?”

“The water, get out the way, fuck!”

Connie, in a panic, pressed the tap handle with force and Jean shoved his head under the spout, letting the water wash over his poor eye.

“What the hell, man?” Connie clamoured in disbelief. Jean decided to let the water keep splashing for a while before he took his head out from under to answer.

“I got th' – I got the onion in my eye,” he mumbled, rubbing the eyelid of his offended organ. He fumbled against the edge of the sink as the water spilled down the side of his face. His brow drew into a frown as some of the water managed to drip onto his t-shirt. Its neckline grew dark with an uncomfortable heaviness. “Ugh.”

“Hey, you … you OK?”

“Yeah. Fine.”

“Sure.”

Jean could feel Connie's wry side-eyed look on him as he drew back to his own counter, where there were still about a hundred thousand onions for him to slice up. To his right and left some other hapless counsellors had been suspiciously picked out and volunteered for this bizarre vegetable dealing chore. They had been called to the basement by Mikasa under the flimsy excuse that they were needed for vegetable duty. A duty Jean had not heard of before that morning, which was strange – because he had been going to Hanji's camp for years now. Having been brought there, he was able to take a short nap before setting to work.

He hadn't gotten a chance to talk to Marco.

Jean shook his head and rolled out another onion from the brown sack in front of him to begin arduously peeling it, feeling his fingernails break the slimy membrane beneath its papery skin. His eyes were already sore and burning from twenty minutes of the task, but actually putting an oniony hand to his face had multiplied the ferocity of the stinging, despite the water. He huffed a bland laugh as a tear rolled down his cheek, and rolled his shoulder to try and wipe it away, but just smeared it across his chin. More tears escaped his other eye and he tried to wipe them off with the back of his elbow, but it was too much. The oniony air was overwhelming him. Tears rolled down his face with no relief. Jean snarled in frustration and slammed the onion down onto the counter.

He shoved off from it again and stormed towards the door. Connie yelled after him but Jean didn't care.

Before he was able to climb the stairs to the door however, an arm was thrown out, blocking his path.

“Where do you think you're going?”

Jean turned to Levi, who stared at him with that disinterested look, like he'd much rather be far away. Jean could relate.

“I've given up! I've failed your stupid task thing.”

Levi quirked an eyebrow.

“Just let me leave, I just want to go sit outside for a bit.”

“You been crying, Kirschstein?”

Jean bit back a loud yell, his hands balling into fists.

“I was cutting onions!”

The wisp of a smirk appeared on Levi's face, but it was as brief as Jean's patience at that moment.

“Alright, but be back in here in ten minutes.”

Jean grumbled a lacklustre, “thanks,” and hurriedly lumbered up the stairs and through the door into the cooling air of the corridor above. He fell against the door in exhaustion, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He carefully avoided touching his eyes, but still felt the small sting of the stupid fucking onions in his eyes.

Where was Marco now? What was he doing? How was he feeling?

Jean had hoped coming outside, into light and away from the muggy underground room and its onions, would stop him from dwelling on Marco. He squirmed where he was sat. There was nothing else to focus on now. The corridor was light and airy; the walls painted a pastel yellow, with a softly creaking wooden floor. Out here there was nothing to distract him and there was nothing but Marco to think about. Jean tried to focus on a dark smudge on the skirting board opposite him where someone must have scuffed their shoe. He never did end up sleeping with Marco again.

“Fuck,” he said to no one in particular. “Fuck!”

There was nowhere he could go to escape the look on Marco's face as Jean had hurried out of the tent. The memory stung, hot and permanent, at the front of his mind; the betrayed eyes burned through Jean's paper thin ability to feign indifference.

He felt the skin on his neck pull as he rested his head against the door, looking up at the ceiling. It was a faintly greying cream colour, with a few flakey patches. He watched as a whorl of the old paint peeled away from the aging ceiling and fluttered slowly to the panelled floor. Jean wondered how long that piece of paint had been attached to the ceiling before it unstuck and fell loose to the wood below. The floor, like the rest of the building, was immaculately cleaned apart from this new chip of paint which lay there, awkward and alien. He guessed it wouldn't be long before it got cleared up too.

Jean did not want to go back to the basement and its muggy air. He didn't want to stay out in the narrow corridor either. He sat upright with the idea that he could leave. He could walk down the corridor and leave the HQ building. He could leave the camp. But there was still no escape – there was nowhere he could go where his thoughts didn't box him in; where he wasn't stuck in an uncomfortable moment with his mind's Marco. His mind's Marco, who looked at him like he was the worst person in the world and which, quite frankly, was what Jean felt like in that moment. He deserved the dark and claustrophobic basement with an irate Levi where he had been set a menial task which he could probably never complete.

If he was honest with himself, he would probably prefer it to the sick yellow and scabbing walls of his current position. He would prefer it in the cramped atmosphere than here where his thoughts were only on that jerky jerk, Marco Bodt.

“OK,” he said quietly to himself. “OK.”

Taking a raggedy breath, Jean brushed a hand through his hair and got to his feet, turning quickly and opening the door into the basement, and the sounds of people chatting softly and the dull thuds and scrapes of vegetables being cut and put away.

He rattled down the steps to the bottom and into the large-ish room. It was dim, but lined with fluorescent lights which buzzed incessantly and flickered every now and then. Alternately hot and freezing pipes curved and bordered the dark corners and sides, which did nothing for Jean except add to his discomfort. He nodded at Levi as he passed him, but the small man just brushed him away, more focused on a stack of papers he was slowly getting through, armed with a pen and Tip-Ex.

Jean shrugged it off; he didn't care whether Levi was interested in his return or not. He ignored Connie's murmured splutter of, “Where the fuck did you go?” and set about with the onions again. He had forgotten how much they hurt his eyes.

“Fuckin' vegetables,” he muttered under his breath.

The person to the right of him suddenly whipped their head around. “What?” they whispered conspiratorially. “Are you talking about Levi?”

Jean narrowed his eyes and creased his brow. “What?”

“Sorry, I just thought – because you walked past him. Did you see what he's doing?”

Jean shrugged. “Not really.”

They blinked for a moment, then said, “Oh right,” and turned back to their vegetables, though Jean could sense they were bristling with curiosity and frustration. He didn't have enough energy to care; there was already too much on his mind and he didn't need to add petty gossip to the crushing weight of thoughts.

After a few minutes of peeling the onions, deciding to wait a little while longer before cutting them again, Levi had scraped back his chair loudly and spoke. He wasn't particularly loud but the authority in his voice made even Jean crane his neck in order to make sure he heard.

“You're allowed a break now if you want it. Go to the bathroom, go for a walk, whatever. Just don't talk to anyone you don't know outside, and make sure you're back here before I get back.”

Connie piped up. “When will you be back?”

“Mind your own business.”

And with that, Levi made his delicate but decisive way up the stairs and out of the room. Silence reigned until the door slammed behind him, and the counsellors broke out into sudden chatter.

“Fucking Christ,” complained Connie, stretching and walking over to Jean, who was still just stood at his counter, staring at the wall now. “I didn't think he'd ever let us stop. Why do we even have to do this shit?”

Jean shrugged.

“Also, if we were going to have a proper break, how come he didn't tell you when you left?”

“Probably because he's a douchebag,” replied Jean quickly, unable to stop himself.

“Yeah, that's true. I dunno. I get the feeling we could have a break whenever we like – but he's just making us think that we have to do the work, y'know? We get a break when he leaves? Yeah, right. He just got tired of looking after us.”

Jean bit back the words to make Connie shut up. He didn't care what the boy had to say. He just didn't fucking care. There was literally nothing Connie could say to him that wouldn't make him want to thrust him out of his hearing range.

But suddenly he realised that maybe there was. He interrupted Connie just as he was saying, “I miss Sasha,” in the most annoying and whiny tone Jean had heard Connie ever use.

“Hey, if,” he said, “hypothetically – if hypothetically, there was a person who liked someone else. But they did something to make that someone else upset with them. What – what should that person do?”

Jean internally cringed. It had come to this. Asking Connie Springer about how to deal with a _boy_ situation; he had even used the classic “hypothetical” line. He had reached that point – he had hit rock bottom. He could only hope that Connie's reply would offer at least the hope of a ladder to return to the bright surface of good ideas.

“I dunno, man. Have you tried having sex with them?”

No. Nope. Jean was never asking for Connie's help again.

“I'm kidding! Wipe that look off your face, _jeez_. Nah, man. It depends. I mean,” he paused a moment, shoving himself up to sit on Jean's counter. “I mean, it depends how you upset them.”

He looked down at Jean, who averted his eyes and didn't reply.

“Because I mean, what you did weighs up on a scale, right? So – depending on how much you upset them, that's how much you gotta pay them back.”

Jean crossed his arms, and leant with his lower back against the counter. He wasn't sure Connie was right about that. In fact, he was pretty certain that was not how the world worked. But then again what position was Jean in to make assumptions about the world? He clearly didn't understand people at all. He clearly didn't understand Marco. Maybe he did need to pay Marco back for all he'd done – but what could he do?

First he supposed he needed to weigh up all the terrible things he'd done: pretended to hate Marco – and all that entailed, with his spiteful glances and harsh words; he had insulted Marco before they had even met, and was cold for weeks. That wasn't the sort of thing that could just be forgotten, and Jean thought to all those times Marco had made jokes about his cruelty. They couldn't have been jokes. They were reminders of the impression Jean had left him with; malicious and unfriendly. Then to make things even worse, was the kiss.

He had kissed Marco out of the blue, right after he had explained how upset and messed up he already was about a recent breakup. And then Jean had just walked away. He had just walked away from it all as though Marco was just a shameful moment in a tent.

Jean found himself flushing with the embarrassment and guilt again.

There was nothing shameful about Marco, but there was everything shameful about Jean. He would be surprised if Marco ever spoke to him civilly again. He would be surprised if the next time Marco saw him he didn't just start yelling and insulting him. He almost hoped he would. But then again, he wasn't sure he'd be able to handle it watching Marco be upset, let alone upset at him.

Jean let out a sigh.

“But, I mean, y'know,” came a voice next to him. Jean had forgotten Connie was there. He was so tired. “You might … like this person, but they might not like you back …”

Jean snapped his head round. What was Connie trying to say?

“What do you mean?”

What on earth could Connie know about anything; Jean barely even knew how he felt.

“I just mean – well, the more I think about it, the more I've realised that Sasha and I have always been in love really.”

There it was. He had even taken on that superior tone he had whenever he thought he had something over Jean. And he knew that was bullshit anyway. He could remember when Connie had claimed to be in love with a girl in their high school last year. But he still felt a hint of panic. Connie and Sasha had always been best friends, pretty much from the moment they had met each other. Jean could remember when they were little, Sasha had introduced Connie to him as her “new best friend”, and Jean had cried until both of them had promised that they were all best friends.

He wasn't stupid though; he knew love could happen in many different ways.

Ugh, what was he even thinking – he didn't love Marco. He didn't even – he had no idea what he felt about Marco. His feelings towards Marco felt like a strange squiggle on his otherwise constant affections for Mikasa, which oddly, had seemed to dissipate over the past few weeks. He looked over to where Mikasa was sat chatting with some of the other counsellors. She was just – Mikasa. He didn't feel that same tummy-flip of blind hope and teenage hormones that he used to. He hadn't even thought about her at all while he had been at camp, not until she had appeared out of nowhere last night.

He supposed he should also include Hitch as an ex-girlfriend somewhere in there too. But he wasn't sure he ever really _liked_ Hitch. They had never trusted each other, and all they had ever seemed to do was watch shitty movies, argue and have sex.

It was kind of sad he supposed. The only relationship he had ever had, and it had been with someone he didn't even like.

He huffed a short laugh.

Connie nudged him hard with his boot.

“Oi, I'm giving you some gold advice here, and you're just laughing.”

“Connie, I haven't even been listening to you.”

“Well, fuck you too.”

Jean shrugged.

“There's not much I can tell you, man. Just – I mean how does this person feel about you?”

Jean felt his face flare with heat, and he re-crossed his arms tighter. How was he supposed to know? Marco probably hated him after last night's performance. But the words _“I couldn't pretend to hate you even if I tried”_ rang hotly in his ears. At the time he had been so elated to hear those words he hadn't noticed, but now he thought back to it Marco had said it in such a hollow voice, like he was upset with himself because of it.

Sinking lower into the counter, he thought back to that archery session, when Marco had wandered into the woods, and then come back quiet and almost sad.

It was with a dull, horrifying blow to the head that Jean realised why. Jean had been confusing Marco with his roundabout attitude towards him. Hadn't he been trying to hate Marco moments before practically embracing him in an attempt to guide him into the right position? What if Marco was confused? What if Marco was confused about him?

“You OK, Jean? Didn't your dentist tell you to stop grinding your teeth?” Connie nudged him with his boot again, though this time less hard. Jean tried to let out a sigh but his breath was seized before it reached his throat, though it still struggled to get out and he had to crouch down so Connie wouldn't notice his panicky gasping. Jean squeezed his eyes shut for a moment then blinked them open again. He stayed in his position on the floor, looking around. He could see people happily talking with each other but it felt very far away. “Maybe you should go sleep some more. I'll wake you up when short-ass comes back.”

Jean pursed his lips, biting back the urge to tell Connie that he too was a short-ass. He wanted to fight, but all the fight had left him. Sleep was probably the best idea.

* * *

Jean woke up with a heavy head and a swirling stomach. There was a quiet and intense chatter around the room, but it felt loud and echoing. He groaned and held his head in place for a few moments, before he realised one of the voices was directing its agitated hissing at him.

“Jean, wake the fuck up.”

Jean grit his teeth and looked up from his slumped position in the corner of the room. Connie was lingering by him, looking anxious.

“Wuh?” Jean asked him, not particularly wanting to stand up for fear of throwing up everywhere.

“Jean, you gotta get up. Levi just ran in here and told us an inspector's coming round, so we have to look like we're working.”

Jean rubbed his sleepy eyes and looked around at the basement room. People were back to their stations, peeling and washing vegetables, and whispering conspiratorially with each other. He closed his eyes shut again and flopped hard against the wall. He had forgotten about the onions. He wondered how long he had been asleep for; it had felt like years, but he guessed realistically it must have been half an hour at most. He groaned, while his stomach grumbled painfully.

“You hungry or something?” asked Connie, lightly tapping his shoulder. Jean looked to him again. He was holding his hand out to help him up. Jean took Connie's warm hand in his own clammy one and stood up, wobbling slightly in his hungover state.

“Nah, tummy ache.”

“Well, you don't have to _actually_ do much. Just make it look like you're working hard, then we can probably go. I guess this is just to make the camp look busy or something.”

“Yeah...”

He really didn't care.

He shuffled back to his station where he found the bag of onions had torn and spilt onions all over the space, and onto the floor.

“What the hell?” he muttered.

The counsellor next to him leaned over apologetically. “Sorry, I was going to go pick them up – but I didn't know if you'd just left them like that on purpose or something.”

“Why the fuck would I leave them like this on purpose?” Jean growled, picking up the onions from the floor. As he rose back to standing, arms full of onions, he smacked his head on the jutting countertop, dropping the stinking vegetables once again. He bit his lip hard, and tried not to yell. He could feel his cheeks growing warm in frustration and his ears were even starting to get hot in embarrassment. The counsellor next to him seemed to be looking as though they wanted to help, but were too unsure.

Jean turned to look at them, hoping his scowl would put them off helping him. He didn't need help. He didn't want it either. He just wanted to get the fucking onions peeled and chopped. That was all he needed to do.

He heard the door to the basement open and Hanji loudly declaring that they were in fact in the basement now. He also heard a chirping, “I see!” in response, and assumed that must be the inspector. Jean was still on his knees trying to collect the rolling onions when Hanji and their entourage, inspector included, made it to the bottom of the steps.

“Enjoying yourself, Jean?” Hanji called out.

Jean looked up from his position on the floor, for once truly appreciating the natural scowl which usually occupied his face and hoping to use it in full force to whomever had caught him making such a spectacle of himself. But the scowl dropped as soon as he looked, because about Hanji were Levi, the inspector, Mina and – of course – Marco.

“We're just here with the inspector, and my two little helpers, to show him around the headquarters for now!” Hanji pointed to Marco and Mina.

Marco's eyes flickered towards Jean, then away again. He didn't spare another glance.

A wash of hot and cold flowed through Jean's body. His skin didn't quite feel as though it matched up with his insides; as though it was moving at just a slightly different speed. With jagged movements, he slowly got up and made his way back to his station. He held onto the counter with one hand and leant against it, gripping on tightly, his knuckles burning white. A soft lump had formed below his throat, in his chest.

He didn't know how he wanted it or why, let alone in what universe he thought he deserved it. But he desperately needed Marco to say something.

Jean had never thought he would get no reaction from Marco. Yelling, maybe. A smile, an infinitely small chance, but still possible. Even a look of disgust Jean could have handled better. But instead there was a blank look Marco had on his face, as though this wasn't a real meeting between Jean and Marco. It was a meeting between Jean and a stranger who didn't have any particular thoughts or feelings towards him, or at least someone who wished they didn't.

“Sorry about him, not particularly sociable at the best of times, especially not when he's been set a boring chore, right, Jean!” cackled Hanji. The inspector let out a short huff of laughter too, and Jean bit down hard on the inside of his mouth as he grabbed the knife and began to chop at onions again.

With his back turned to the group now, Jean heard Hanji explain every little feature of the basement and what they used it for. Which was strange; because other than the treasure hunt, this was the first time Jean had ever even been in the basement. He turned to sneak another glimpse of the group.

There was Hanji in the middle of everyone, waving their arms about excitedly and pointing out everything from spiders' webs to the potatoes Connie was washing.

The inspector was next to Hanji, scribbling away on his clipboard. He chuckled frequently, and would occasionally comment on something before clapping a large hand on Levi's shoulder and looking to him expectantly, as though he'd just told the most hilarious joke.

Levi stood next to the blond inspector, taking this unintentional mistreatment with a remarkably straight face, but Jean could have sworn he was smaller than usual; he, now more than ever, looked as though he was so discontent with the world he had shrunk further in an attempt to get away from it.

Mina was giggling wildly at many points, clearly trying to make sure the inspector was happy enough when Levi wouldn't play along, and it seemed to be working as it would distract him enough to leave Levi be again.

Jean thought he didn't have the courage to look that extra inch further to see Marco, but he did.

Marco looked fine. He looked OK – but Jean knew that meant something was up. He was sure that if Marco was 100% he would look far more cheerful; he had a naturally sunny disposition to him, but it was diluted somehow. He seemed to constantly be needing to touch something; the hem of his pink polo shirt, his short pockets, even twining his fingers together nervously. His smile didn't seem quite real either, not quite reaching his eyes, which were constantly fixed on the corner of the room, far away from Jean.

Jean turned his head back to the onions again.

It was all just confirming what he already knew.

He carried on chopping, but he realised that whatever fire had been within him before had been blown out. He barely had the strength to slice through the onion he had been vigorously hacking away at beforehand.

With bland recognition of a slight shift in tone, he heard the inspector say, “But none of the people working in this room are counsellors, are they?”

It sounded as though Hanji was about to say something, but then Levi interrupted them with a rustle of papers and said, “No, of course not – they're all under eighteen. Here are their papers explaining their duties.”

The room went strangely quiet. Someone coughed. The inspector “hm!”ed happily. And with that, it seemed as though the trip to the basement was over. He heard them begin to shuffle and move away, and with one last desperate cling to hope, Jean turned his head to watch.

They were all turning to leave towards the basement door. Hanji, Levi, Mina, the inspector, and Marco. But just before Marco turned, Jean saw his brow pull into a small frown. Marco caught his eye for just one miniscule moment before he finally did turn to go, and Jean had to fight to stop his face from falling. Marco looked so unhappy and nervous. That wasn't what Jean wanted at all; but it was what he knew he was going to see.

He looked away as soon as his brain registered that he could, and fought a sniffle. The onions were getting in his eyes again, so he stared them down, daring them to make him cry. Burning tears slipped down his cheeks, but he still didn't feel like he was crying. He felt empty. He knew what he needed to do. He brushed the tears off with the back of his forearm, and carried on with the onion chopping and peeling until he heard the door open and close again.

By the time Jean was ready, Levi was sat back in his chair at the desk, moodily playing some game on his phone. He headed over shakily.

“What is it?” asked Levi, without even looking up.

“I want to swap groups. I want to be assigned a different co-counsellor.”

Levi gave a drawn out sigh, and without putting his phone down, he leant across the desk to grab one of the blank request forms lying in a pile there.

“Whatever, that's no big deal. Petra will just change you on the system, and you'll get your new group within a few hours. You just have to give a good enough reason.”

“Because I'm bad for Marco. I've probably made his life hell for the past few weeks and I'd only make it worse if we had to stay working together. He should get a better co-counsellor.”

There was a long pause. Jean breathed in heavily. He had made his decision. He looked to Levi, whose lip was curling.

“Not to me, shitface. Write it on the form.”

“Oh. Right.”

Jean looked down at the form Levi had just shoved in front of him. A pen was thrown at his head so, before he could change his mind, Jean began to write ' **REQUEST TO SWAP COUNSELLING GROUPS** '.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jean jeaning it some more. the title is completely and totally ironic, i hope it successfully came across that jean is Not clear of the mistakes.
> 
> thank you for putting up with such long waits! it may be that there is another mega wait for the next chapter, and potentially the one after because of uni work, etc. so please don't expect the whole week thing i once promised. once upon a time when i thought i knew what i could handle. thank you for your comments and kudos from before!


	11. Tired of the Tables

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very little sleep, very little patience, and very little sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THREE MONTHS LATER SHE RETURNS. As per: apologies for lateness! Usual excuses of work, blah blah, etc. Despite this, I really hope you can still enjoy it. Lies face down on the ground.
> 
> Also! OK, so to explain the rating change – firstly I am very sorry to those who my have been looking forward to any M-rated scenes, but I have been reworking and reworking the plot, as it just wasn't working as I went along, and though I did actually try to fit stuff in it just really jarred and didn't make much sense to any of the scenes themselves, or the plot as a whole. So I hope it doesn't detract from the story – it's still just the same old Long Time Coming as it always has been! The idea of putting M-rated stuff in was really stressing me out, so I hope you can forgive me for being a silly bean and changing the rating at such a late stage!

There was something about the way Marco moved that Jean didn't like. Jean had known he would avoid him, thanks to their sudden and unexpected meeting in the basement, but it was the way Marco kept nearly catching his eye. It was setting Jean on edge, and kind of annoying him ever since they had been put back in the same vicinity. A few hours ago, once the inspector had left, the counsellors in the basement had been free to join most of the others who were hanging about at some benches and tables behind the HQ building. Sasha and Connie had reunited with a screech, noogie, and consequent wrestling. Jean had lingered back, paradoxically wanting to see Marco more than anyone else, but also never wanting to see Marco again.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, Marco had appeared in the area ten or twenty minutes later, after a period of limbo; the stress of not knowing whether he would see him again was almost worse than the sudden flush of elation, and subsequent nauseous guilt, he felt when Marco did suddenly emerge with Mina from the darkness of the building, and into the warm orange daylight. Almost worse.

They had successfully managed to ignore each other for the first half hour or so, but soon Jean realised he was catching glances from Marco, and giving them in return. Awkward and shifty looks to one another, as though they had some secret between them that no one else was involved in. But in reality, they both seemed to be keeping something from the other, and it was ruffling Jean's feathers.

He wanted to storm desperately over to Marco, and eloquently explain why he quit their group. He imagined the confused look on Marco's face, then reluctant acceptance, then the amicable parting of ways as acquaintances never to speak to each other again. That way Jean could stop feeling so shitty about the quick unhappy glances he kept sending over and receiving in return.

There was a gentle hum coming from a generator somewhere, and the soft wheezing whistle of an occasional breeze through the leaves of the trees. Most people were sitting in their little groups, chatting and drinking lemonade one of the camp leaders had left by the shade of the building's porch. The ice was slowly melting at the bottom of the now lemonade-less jug, drops of condensation winding an erratic path down the round bowl of the jug. Some other counsellors were playing soccer by the forest, and some had gone for a wander. Jean was sat on the table of one of the benches, alone.

The day was cooler than it had been for a while, but it was still far too hot for Jean, who could feel the sticky damp of perspiration between every fold of skin from his awkward sitting position on top of that bench table. He grimaced and squeezed his sweaty hands before jumping off. For a moment he panicked; he'd made movement and a few of the other counsellors around him had noticed.

He had to do something now that people had seen him. He hadn't originally meant to move; he'd just wanted to stop _not_ moving. He found his feet striding himself over to a particular circle of friends. Marco caught a quick glance at Jean, before doubletaking, realising he was walking over.

Jean's eyebrows were drawn into an agitated frown and he could feel them shaking slightly. He was doing something. He was nearly there. He was going to actually have to say something. He was going to have to be as articulate and well-spoken as possible. This was important. He took a deep breath and stopped, just short of Marco who sat on the grassy floor below him.

“You don't have the make me I'm avoiding!” he yelled.

There was a silence. Jean felt the wind catch in his hair for a moment, then pass.

“No. Fuck,” he covered. “I meant – I, fuck. No. You – this isn't the way it's supposed to go.”

“Are you OK?” asked Marco, genuine concern on his face.

 _No. No no no._ This was the opposite of what was supposed to happen.

Jean heard light thuds of footfalls headed towards him from behind, and then an arm gently snake around him.

“What're you doing, kiddo?” asked Sasha in a hushed voice, her arm attached protectively over his shoulders. Connie behind her.

“I.” Jean paused. What _was_ he doing?

“It's OK, Jean. I'm sure you'll figure it out,” said Marco, almost sternly. He was shaking his head as if to say now was not the time. Jean blinked. He raised his hand, then shakily lowered it.

“Yeah,” he said, suddenly looking to the ground. “Yeah.”

There was never going to be a time to explain to Marco why he needed to stay away; they just couldn't be friends. They just couldn't. He had ruined everything and he was ready to just sink into the murky gloom of his big fucking up.

“Just,” came a soft voice nearby. Jean looked down to Marco, who was still sat on the ground, pulling at the strands of grass. “Just, take your time, OK?”

Jean dug his heels into the ground in frustration. He hadn't realised his fists were clenched, but he could suddenly feel his own nails biting into his palms. He could feel everything in such stinging focus, from the rush of the breeze round and round his head and neck, to the harsh shouts of counsellors playing nearby. Everything existed so painfully in that moment because Jean knew it wasn't a matter of taking his time or of figuring things out, and he was sure Marco knew that too. He had to just stop. He had to leave Marco alone. He had to leave.

He turned on his heel, flicking some dry soil into the air as he did so, and stormed away from Marco and his group of friends, decidedly not looking back, and towards the HQ building. He would go sit in an empty room somewhere and try to sleep off some more of his hangover. He still hadn't got his full night's sleep. 

* * *

It was nearly seven and a half hours later, when he awoke suddenly in an uncomfortably warm corner of a room filled with beanbags, that Jean realised that Marco probably didn't even know that he had switched groups yet. He groaned loudly into the beanbag he'd been lying on, and repented the last few hours for meaning he wouldn't get much sleep tonight. How had he managed to screw so much up in so little time?

He slowly heaved himself up from the beanbag, stretching his limbs and cracking his neck and wrists. He grimaced. The room was dark, but for a steady beam of bright yellow light from a crack under the door breaking the room's bluey gloom and giving everything in it a soft edge of wakefulness – a reminder that despite the night, life was still going on. It made Jean feel a little better.

He shuffled out of the room, and into the glaring light of the corridor. Blinking, he rubbed his eyes a few times, unsure of what he wanted to do. He wasn't quite fully awake, but there was no chance of him falling asleep again for another few hours at all. It seemed his only option was to wander aimlessly for a while, or go back to the cabin and lie in his bed, listening to Marco breathe in the next bed over. Not being able to decide which to do, he went for a middle ground by choosing the slowest route he knew from that room out of the HQ building, letting the corridors twist and wind gradually about him, not bothering to pick up his pace at all. He fell into an easy, steady step; passing windows which opened into the chittering night of a woodlands area, and the bizarre but somewhat comforting paintings, pictures and posters of various camp activities which were hung up in seemingly random places.

Jean backpedalled at some of them, breaking the rhythm of padding feet on the ground. He was in a few of the pictures: leant against a wall and smirking coolly as a counsellor with the kids from last year's camp group photo; an action shot of him yelling at a child for not rowing fast enough in a kayaking race; a shot of the counsellors looking weary in the canteen, Jean particularly so, sandwiched between Sasha and Connie who were excitedly trying to feed him some broccoli. He couldn't even remember why that had happened. Something about Jean never eating enough greens. He chuckled to himself. Next to that photo however, was another one. It was a lot older, and featured a shorter version of himself, stood next to an even shorter version of Connie who was beaming, thumb stuck out, and front teeth missing. Jean didn't have an undercut in this picture, and he too was beaming – pre-brace teeth crooked and overlapping. He had stuck his thumb out with Connie, clearly ecstatic to be there at the camp with one of his best friends. Who knew where Sasha was, probably terrorising some other kids.

Other than the hideous historic mess that was Jean's childhood image, what caught him about the picture was another little face peeping out from behind Jean and Connie. Bespectacled and freckled, in the background, a ten year old Marco appeared to be pulling a face into the camera with Mina. Jean stood back, shocked. Photobombed by Marco Bodt before he had even known what that name meant.

After the initial shock of Marco's incredible timing on the photo, and Jean's complete ignorance of the photo's existence at all, it suddenly struck Jean that Marco had sort of always been there. A face in the background. It didn't mean anything to him now, and it wouldn't mean anything to Marco, he presumed. It was just a strange quirk of the world that they had only been brought together this summer. Jean wondered how many moments had happened which, with one change of a hand movement, or the rewording of a sentence, might have led into a different, earlier meeting with Marco Bodt.

He scuffed his heel into the floor, then turned and fell back into his fixed tread down the corridor, towards the exit. He could see the door ahead of him, and knew that beyond it there was the shuddering cool of a walk in the night, and beyond even that was the discordant hum of the confining cabin's nearby generator for the next few hours before Jean lacked enough energy to sleep again.

How many hours would he have to listen to Marco's soft snore? The snore that wasn't really a snore; just heavy breathing. The one he had felt gently resonate against his chest, and neck, while they'd slept in the space those nights before. Not even that long ago. It had been comforting, and familiar, and what was keeping Jean so level and content while at camp this year – despite all the loud, obnoxious children. And then they'd just stopped.

Jean thought about how it was something they'd never spoken about. They'd just continued sleeping in the same bed; and then without speaking, they had stopped. He supposed they hadn't really had the chance to do it again yet, but he knew that when he went back in that cabin, there'd be no discussion, no mention of it. He would go in his own bed. Marco would stay in his own. That's the way it would stay. An unspoken contract had been signed and now ripped apart before Jean had fully understood what it meant.

What did it mean?

Friends slept in each others' beds all the time – he and Sasha had shared a bed every Saturday night since they were three, he and Connie had shared beds countless times too. Acquaintances, not so much, he supposed, but with an unexpected burning sensation in his stomach, Jean knew that he and Marco had bypassed acquaintances very quickly. He sadly guessed that was more to do with Marco's friendly attitude than anything Jean had said or done. But he still felt that hot knot of guilty glee when he thought about how soon they had opened up to each other. With a hint of that strange and sad joy he presumed that not many people had shared Marco's bed within the first few weeks of knowing him.

He wanted to pin it down to a moment. He wanted to pin it down to a single second from which Jean could say _there_ ; that was when Marco stopped being some kid behind him in a photo.

Easily, his mind procured for him, the image of Marco, grinning, his hair wet and all over the place. Moonlight, vast and open, spilling onto the surface of the lake, and reflecting onto Marco's dark chest and face, making his eyes bright and full.

_“Do you like me yet?”_

It made sense that this was the moment Jean's mind had chosen for him, because Jean had, without even thinking, said “No.” No, he didn't like Marco yet. He supposed it was true. He hadn't liked Marco yet. But he didn't have to be such a fucking asshole.

He shut his eyes, shaking the sight from his head. He hadn't liked Marco then.

But now.

He had reached the end of the corridor, and the door was suddenly in front of him. With only a brief moment of decision-making, Jean pushed it open.

It was cold outside.

His attitude towards Marco, and the knowledge that he would ruin everything, had torn apart that unspoken contract of attraction long before Jean's stupid kiss in the tent. Jean had messed things up from the start, and he would just continue to mess things up, and Marco was better off without him.

Jean shivered.

“Why is it so damn freaking cold?” he muttered. “It's supposed to be the shitty summer.”

He hurried the rest of the way back to the cabin, cursing under his breath. It looked like everyone was asleep ; he couldn't see any lights on in any of the cabins. He had no idea what time it was.

With a final short jog, he made it to his own cabin, and saw, with relief, that their light was off, so Marco must be asleep. Too fed up and tired of his own apprehension, in the same thought command, Jean swiftly, albeit as quietly as possible, ran up the porch steps, opened the door and shucked off his clothes, replacing them with his ratty PJs. He threw himself into his own bed, and defiantly stared at a dark-ish spot on the wall.

His vision blurred, creating slowly shifting blobs of black and purple on the wall.

He shuffled over, and stared at the ceiling instead.

He tried to convince himself to be tired before he would acknowledge the fact that as he entered the cabin, he had heard a sudden rustle coming from Marco's bed. He wanted to believe that it had just been him turning in his sleep. But Jean knew that Marco was awake. Lying in his own bed, trying to ignore the figure in the bed opposite him too.

He thought about the look Marco had given him earlier, while he had been pulling at grass and telling Jean to take his time. Sunlight catching his eyes, making him squint. Freckles much darker than they'd been at the beginning of their time at camp. The hint of hope in his small smile.

 _God._ Jean thought, turning back towards the wall. He liked Marco Bodt. He liked him and his stupid dark hair, and stupid freckles, and stupid laughter, and stupid effortlessly uplifting existence so much. So much. And that was why it was especially important that Jean did this; that Jean just backed out and away from Marco Bodt forever, so that Marco would never be affected by Jean and whatever it was that made Jean so – like he was.

* * *

Jean woke up early and suddenly the next morning to the sounds of Marco's soft snores. The dawn had only just about risen, and Jean knew that he had not slept for long.

He sluggishly turned over, and across the stretch of splintering wooden flooring, and a ratty rug; there was Marco sleeping as he usually did, one arm thrust out, the one Jean would usually use as a pillow. He shuddered slowly, and propped himself up, shifting the blankets off him as slowly and quietly as possible, desperate in not wanting to wake Marco up. He sneaked across the floorboards, throwing on some khaki shorts at the bottom of his still semi-unpacked suitcase, and one of the two bright pink polo shirts the camp had supplied, draped over the chair.

Finally slipping his shoes on, he nudged his way out of the door without so much as a creak, and despite his shitty disposition about the world and life in general, he was pretty proud about that morning's mission impossible.

Today, Marco was going to realise that Jean was no longer counselling with him.

Jean didn't know what to make of that; he didn't want to try and process it. He jogged up to Connie's cabin as the light morning mist began to clear, and rapped on the curtained window harshly. A sleepy Armin pulled back the curtain and, rubbing one eye, opened the window slightly.

“Is Connie awake?” asked Jean quickly, without waiting for Armin to greet him.

“Uh.” Armin yawned and looked over his shoulder. “No.”

“Wake him up,” snapped Jean. “Please.”

“Hm. Oh. Sure.”

Jean danced on his feet, watching as Armin shuffled over towards Connie's bed. Jean turned his head to survey the rest of the cabins, shivering slightly in the warming air. He could feel the dew on the grass pepper his ankles with cold dots as he bounced. He wasn't entirely sure why he hadn't gone to the door; he guessed he didn't want to hang around – he just wanted to go as quickly as possible. A few moments later Connie was at the window.

“What the fuck, Jean?” he said, as Armin stumbled back into bed behind him.

“Get dressed, we're going to breakfast.”

Connie looked down at Jean, who just glowered back up at him.

“Fine, OK. I'll be five minutes.”

And Connie turned around, muttering darkly about having to get his shower in the evening now, and never getting enough sleep without stupid angsty friends messing with his body clock. Jean raced round to the front of the cabin, where Connie came out within moments in his own bright pink polo, and an equally bright pair of green shorts.

“So why are we going this early?” he asked, clucking his tongue.

Jean shrugged, and didn't elaborate on that.

“OK then,” replied Connie, thrusting his hands in his pockets as they continued towards Sasha's cabin together.

Jean waited outside briefly as Connie knocked loudly on her door, to the yelled complaints of Sasha and her roommate. He declared that Sasha needed to get dressed immediately, and then waited on the porch steps with Jean until she skipped down, dressed for the day, to greet them, munching on a cheese cracker.

“What's up, mopey face?” she asked, spraying Jean with crumbs.

Jean shook his head, and she shrugged.

They began walking to the HQ building, Jean maintaining his steady silence, while Sasha chattered cheerfully on, crunching her crackers, and Connie grunted in sleepy but appreciative response every now and then.

They finally made it to the building, and shuffled inside, headed towards the canteen, where breakfast hadn't even opened yet.

Connie threw his hands in the air.

“Why are we here, Jean?” he asked, his voice still jovial, but Jean could hear a sharpness, betraying Connie's annoyance.

“Just.” Jean looked down quickly. He felt a hot blush creep across the back of his neck and ears. “Can we sit down?”

Jean watched Connie and Sasha look at each other quickly, then turn back to him. Sasha scraped back the nearest chair to her, and waited for Jean and Connie to follow her lead.

Jean slumped in his chair, across the round table from Sasha. He felt as though all energy had abandoned him, any ability to think clearly was trapped deep inside a maze of synapses. Sasha leant across, hands clasped together. Jean watched some of the early morning light shining through the huge windows, flashing on the small patches of grease left from her snack earlier. He grimaced.

“What's up, Jean?” she asked, a concerned look in her eyes. Connie was sat in his chair, eyes wide, looking a little worried, but unsure too.

“I just.” He clasped his hands, mirroring Sasha, though staying far back from her, as she nearly had her whole torso draped over the table towards him. “I really like Marco.”

“I knew it!” yelled Connie, fist pumping the air as Sasha leant back very suddenly, her face cracking into a grin.

“Well, that's not- Jeez, Kirschstein, I thought something terrible had happened.”

Jean looked at her, his brow still pulled into a frown.

“That's not. Look, please trust me on this. I already talked to Connie about it, sort of, and I know that me and Marco are terrible for each other. At least – I am for Marco, and I tried to do it myself but I just can't, so _you've_ got to tell him that's why I quit.”

He wondered if his face betrayed how upset he was. But he'd made his decision. Even if there was a niggling little feeling there; something telling him he'd overlooked an important aspect of the situation, or maybe misinterpreted everything altogether. He'd made his decision.

“Quit?” asked Connie, the word having just processed. “You've quit the camp?”

“No!” Jean raised his hands. “No, not at all. I've just switched counselling groups, because – I thought it was unfair for me to stay with Marco when I was clearly making him feel … bad.”

“Bad?”

“What does that even mean?”

Jean shook his head quickly; more to clear it than in reply.

“You have to tell him, OK?” he said, getting up, seeing someone come out with the breakfast buffet trays. “Please, promise me you'll tell him.”

“You should tell him, you jerk,” Connie said, narrowing his eyes in disappointed confusion. Sasha nodded emphatically.

Jean paused for a moment, looking down at his friends. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He'd made his decision.

He turned away, and grabbed a slice of toast from the newly stationed breakfast buffet table. Once he left the HQ building he began to jog towards the cabins the kids were staying in, soaking in the morning warmth which had taken over from the earlier chill of dawn. As he entered the copse which held most of the cabins, he sat down heavily at one of the benches. He knew he had at least an hour left before he had to actually meet with the other counsellor, so slowed his pace, and tried to focus on the toast in his hands. Only then did he realise that it hadn't even been buttered. It was just dry toast.

He had made his decision. He wasn't going back.

He crunched into the toast; feeling the harsh grate of its slightly burnt surface scrape against the roof of his mouth. Chewing for as long as he could, focusing on every movement, he found time pass by. It may have felt like the hour was up by the time he had finished all four slices, but he knew it could only have been fifteen minutes, maybe twenty, max. With a long, drawn out sigh, he rested his head against the bench, but immediately sprang back from it.

This was the bench he and Marco had fallen asleep on that one time.

He had automatically headed towards the cabins Ellie and the other kids were in. He didn't even know where the cabins his new kids stayed in were. He assumed they were close, but all he had been told was that while Mikasa would take over his role and pair up with Marco, Jean's new partner would be Dazz, the bumbling kid Jean had spoken to literally zero times before. Dazz would probably meet him around here.

He held his head in his hands, leaning against the table again.

The bench shifted and moved.

“Hello,” said a voice opposite him. Jean lifted his head, and nodded absently at Mikasa, now sat there.

“Hi,” he murmured. Then, with a sudden panic, “Wait, are you here with Marco?”

“No,” she replied. “I'm early, but I thought I should come to introduce myself to the children.”

Jean nodded. “Oh.”

They sat in the warming air, opposite each other in their own silence, shrouded by the bright chirps and whistles of birds, and the distant chatter of the waking kids in their cabins.

Mikasa let out a sigh. “I'm sorry I ditched you this year without saying anything.”

“Huh.” Jean sat up. “That's – you never had to tell me anything.”

Mikasa shrugged. “It seemed a little unfair to you I suppose.”

Jean let out a small, “Hm.” He didn't really agree, but it wasn't worth arguing about. Maybe a few weeks ago he would've leapt at this show of favour, but now it just felt comfortable; like something someone Jean had known for years _would_ say to him. He finally felt on even ground with Mikasa Ackerman.

“I'm going to go make sure they're up now,” she said, before getting up and leaving. Jean nodded in reply, but he wasn't sure she saw; most likely she didn't care anyway. He huffed happily. Already some things were going right with the world now that he had made his decision. Perhaps some good karma was rubbing off.

He heard a pattering of small feet run towards him.

“Hey, Jean! Did you have a nice weekend off?”

Jean turned to see four of the girls from his now ex-counselling group. They were all grinning brightly, already dressed in their pink shirts.

“Yeah, it was OK,” he said, smiling back. “Did you have a fun weekend in the HQ building doing trust exercises or whatever with Petra?”

“Uh, they weren't just trust exercises, Jean! We also played some pretty cool games. Petra is so nice too! Not as fun as you though.” They all beamed so happily at him. “Are you here to take us out now?”

“Um,” Jean squeezed his eyes shut. How could he not recognise that this decision didn't just affect himself and Marco? Had Mikasa not told them yet? He spoke as he released a breath. “No.” Opening his eyes revealed four disappointed faces. “No, I'm really sorry.”

“How come?” Lea whined.

“Because,” he clenched his fist. He didn't want to lie – but what could he say? “Because I'm needed elsewhere; this other group just desperately needed me, and as much as I hate to leave you, I just had to.”

“Oh,” said Rebekah in a small voice. “OK.”

Jean felt the crushing weight of letting down those who trusted him, and genuinely enjoyed his presence.

“I'll see you around though?” he said quietly.

“Yeah!” smiled Rebekah, and the other girls agreed.

“Hey, guys!” came Mikasa's voice from near their cabin. “You ready to set off?”

“We get Mikasa?” cried Lea in excitement.

Jean nodded, laughing slightly. “Yeah, you get Mikasa.”

“This is the best thing ever! Sorry, Jean!”

“That's – no problem, Lea. Have a good day.”

Lea and the rest of the girls careened towards Mikasa in bubbling eagerness. Jean noticed as they began to walk away, one girl had only just left the cabin, and was slowly traipsing behind them all. She turned to look at Jean, and he waved at Ellie. Ellie knit her brow in confusion. Jean shook his head sadly, hoping he could convey that he was sorry in that. Ellie's eyebrows arched sadly before she turned away sharply, to follow the rest of the group. Jean pressed his lips together in frustration.

“Hey,” came a voice behind him.

“Hey!” repeated several tiny voices in a following chorus.

Jean turned to see his new partner, Dazz, with the younger group of children he now had to look after; all bright faces, and tiny limbs, holding in their strange energy which only ever seemed to emanate from people so young.

“Hey,” said Jean quietly, as he got up from the bench to begin the day

* * *

That evening, Jean skipped going to the canteen for mealtime, choosing instead to sneak some food from the HQ's pantry. He managed to snag a couple of lunch bagels, a jar of salsa and half a bag of nacho chips before he became too paranoid that someone was about to catch him in the act. He walked back to his cabin, clutching his spoils to his chest, mainly because he was concerned with dropping them, and hadn't taken the time to reshift things into a better position.

A warm, light rain began to fall as he was walking, and he jogged the last few yards as quickly as he could without spilling chips and salsa everywhere.

In the cabin, he dropped the goods onto the end of his bed, then flopped on it himself.

It had been a long day. The new kids were considerably younger, and it was a whole new ballpark for Jean. Plus, with the extra weight of Dazz – someone he had never spoken to before, and also someone he kind of wished he would never have to speak to again. He was so jumpy and panicky with the children, it was a wonder he had even been allowed to be a counsellor – but then, Jean reasoned, Hanji's camp wasn't exactly so health and safety conscious – or even conscious of the law for that matter, as the recent visit from the inspector had proved to everyone in that basement.

Jean rolled over and took a bagel, breaking it in half and dipping the end in the salsa pot. He slowly munched on his make-do dinner as the rain spittered over the cabin, wrapping him in a pleasant cocoon of cool comfort, a nice change from the usual boiling temperatures. More proof that the world approved of his decision.

He was mid-munch when the door suddenly swung open, and the silhouette of his soaking roommate appeared.

Jean paused, his mouth hanging open, unsure of what to do. His intention had been to pretend to be asleep when Marco got back, or to go on a walk before he did, and get back by the time Marco had gone to bed. He was so tired and so comfy in his snug bubble of food and blankets, he hadn't thought to keep an eye out on the time, or for Marco coming back.

“What the _heck_ , Jean?” said Marco, and despite the shake in his voice, he carefully shut the door behind him.

Jean sat up, but didn't say anything.

Marco was covered in rainwater from outside, and it was slowly dripping onto the wooden floor. His pink polo shirt was dark with moisture, and his sneakers squeaked with plastic wetness as he walked slowly, controlled, to face Jean. His eyes were wide, and hurt, and he looked like a tearful heroine from a film, his eyelashes thick with caught raindrops, some of the rain shining in tracks down his face. Jean panicked. He didn't know what he was supposed to say; he didn't know what he could say at this point.

Marco was stood facing him, and Jean could watch every breath he took – each was so controlled and heavy, shoulders raising and slumping shakily, he looked as though he was seething from the inside out.

“I-”

“Jean-”

They spoke at once.

Jean felt as though the cabin was shuddering with the rain; the cool comfort he had felt before washed into harsh waves of cold distress. He couldn't look right at Marco.

“You first,” he muttered quietly.

Marco shut his eyes in frustration, and Jean swallowed thickly.

When Marco opened his eyes again, he began to speak.

“You know,” he said, crossing, then recrossing his arms. “I thought I kind of understood you.”

Jean felt his eyes flicker with shame.

“And it's OK if I don't, that's really fine. But it's at least common decency to let the person you actually _kissed_ know why you're apparently going to such extreme lengths to avoid them now.” Marco's arms had uncrossed, and he was using them to make his points; making short, quick gestures as he spoke. “Even if you're ashamed or embarrassed or whatever, I still exist. It's not enough to get Connie to tell me. He didn't even want to tell me and to be honest I didn't want him to come up to me in the canteen and mutter about you not talking to me anymore either.”

Jean realised he had stopped breathing; breath caught in his dry throat. He spluttered, and felt his ears, neck and cheeks begin to burn red.

“That's not – I'm not ashamed, or embarrassed!” he yelled, suddenly raising the energy in the cabin. “Why would I be?”

“Because you're too scared to tell me that you're afraid of me. Or us. Or _something_.” Marco glared on.

“Why would that be?” growled Jean.

Marco threw his hands in the air. “Isn't that something you've got to figure out for yourself?” he cried. “I'm here to help if you really want it because that's what friends do, but you don't want to be my friend apparently!”

“That's not true!” Jean barked, finding it impossible to stop himself from running his mouth anymore. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Thinking about me? When in this whole calculation did you think of me, Jean?”

“When- Because. Because I'm bad for you – I'm bad for anyone, but you're too good and I didn't want us to become like – like it was with Hitch.”

Marco looked on in disappointed recoil, and a heavy pause lingered over the cabin.

“Well, there was something you managed to miss out when you were apparently thinking so hard about this,” he replied in a quiet voice.

“Oh, and what's that?” Jean asked, his own voice jarringly loud in response.

“That would be what I think, Jean. Did you ever _once_ stop to think about what I would think?”

“Well, what you think is wrong if you think you can be friends with me.”

Marco snapped back immediately, “Jean, don't be such a – a huge rhinoceros.”

Despite the falter, he was fuming; his voice was louder than even Jean's.

“Why a rhinoceros?” asked Jean, feeling only a slight wobble in his voice, matching Marco's volume. He could recognise how far their argument had descended into stupidity, but he also knew they were both too angry to process it.

“Because a rhinoceros also has a thick protective layer to keep people out, and a big sharp horn it uses to try and hurt the people they want to keep away.” Marco had run out of steam; he barely managed to finish the sentence as his last word dissipated into sighing breath. “Why can't you put faith in me?” he asked weakly.

Jean was in silence. At some point, he had stood up, nearly nose to nose with the other boy. They stared at each other in mutual acknowledgement of the argument, both breathing hard.

Marco broke the moment by turning away.

“I'm going for a walk,” he said quietly. “I hope you get some sleep soon, I know you haven't had much recently.”

He walked out of the cabin, and back into the pathetically spitting rain.

Jean flopped onto the bed, exhausted, and immediately felt something cold and wet on his back.

He had knocked over the salsa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoooo boy! um, once again a huge thank you to ecco for proofreading!! and also a big thanks to those who have been supporting me and sending nice messages and just anything really! i really truly appreciated every one! i'm sorry i didn't reply to all the comments from the last chapter, it started building up as I was trying to do essays and i just got very overwhelmed! but i will try and reply to comments this time around! :)
> 
> OK ALSO: MEGA THANKS TO SOME BEAUTIFUL BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE WHO HAVE INCREDIBLE TALENT AND USED THAT TALENT TO ACTUALLY BRING SOME OF THE SCENES I'VE WRITTEN HERE MORE TO LIFE AND MY HEART IS HONESTLY SWELLING JUST THINKING ABOUT THEM: Sasha (allexche.tumblr.com), Phix (phixuscarus.tumblr.com), and tumblr user rainbowd00dles (rainbowd00dles.tumblr.com)!!!! I am honestly astounded and continually in awe; I just. Have no words. Thank you so much!!!
> 
> i would also like to take a little moment to just obnoxiously recommend you a fic (complete at that!) if you haven't read it already! give and take by sinelanguage is just fantastic and i love it and i love the author (a rad person) and you should all really super duper read it.


	12. Do the Things You Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Easily the worst and also the best night of Jean's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all i can really say is: this has been rather a long time coming.

Jean was pacing, and had been for at least ten minutes now. He still hadn’t cleaned the salsa from the butt of his pants and it was crusting and congealing onto the pocket, but he had more important things to concentrate on. Like how infuriating Marco was.

How could he just…? What was he…? Just so…!

“Argh!”

With a flop, Jean fell back onto his bed, where the salsa pot was still doing a fine job of painting the sheets a glorious red with flecks of green. It would have been quite festive if it hadn’t been the middle of summer, and slowly making its way back towards him.

He watched the goopy sauce roll gently in the direction of his arm, an odd sheen reflecting from the low, and slightly too yellow, light coming from the bulb hanging from the ceiling. He had screwed everything up; it was just further proof that he didn’t deserve Marco, and that Marco had never done anything in his life to deserve the monster that Jean could be.

He dragged a hand down his face and let out a sigh.

It was too easy to give up.

He breathed in the quiet cabin’s air. It was dusk outside, and there were a few nighttime bleatings from various animals outside. The heating hadn’t turned on yet but for now, Jean didn’t care much. His skin felt cool but not unpleasantly so; it was like a cleansing coolness. As though if he stayed in the cold long enough he would be purged of all his misdoings. He shivered, and broke the universe’s purification. The cold just felt like cold. Punishing and harsh.

He sat up on the bed, cringing more at the salsa, which felt freezing on the various limbs he’d managed to accidentally smear it on. Outside, the twittering of dusk was getting louder, and the soft babble of counsellors and campers going to their respective cabins continued. There was another sound, a knocking sound. Maybe a few more shouts than usual, but Jean wasn’t really too concerned. Probably nothing serious going on, just someone trying to get a camper to their cabin. The knocking continued, except it was more like a padding, and was getting louder.

Someone was running towards his own cabin. Jean rolled turned to the door just in time to see Marco burst back in, stricken and red-faced.

“Wh-” began Jean.

“She’s missing!” Marco interrupted him. “Ellie, she’s gone missing.”

“What!” Jean jumped up.

“She was…” Marco dragged a hand through his hair. “She wasn’t in the cabin, and Mikasa said that the girls were leaving her out all day, she tried to talk to her but…” Marco looked up at Jean. “Jean, I’m really scared.”

Jean’s thoughts flashed back to when they were crossing the road. He remembered holding Marco’s hand, and telling him he should have let him know that he was scared.

Jean clenched his jaw. In the back of his mind, he recognised Marco’s trust in him, in being comfortable enough to let the usually action-oriented and put-together front down.

Marco let out a small sob. “Sorry, I’m just. I just need a moment to get my thoughts together. How did I not see this happening?”

It wasn’t Marco’s fault; it was Jean who should have noticed. Ellie hadn’t been Marco’s camper to look after. This was all Jean’s fault.

“We’ve got to find her,” he said, his voice coming out croaky. “She can’t have gone far.”

Marco looked up at him, eyes big, making him look a lot younger. His chest was heaving. “Yeah,” he breathed. “Hanji has set up a… a thing.”

“A thing?”

Marco’s eyes widened more, he started flinging his arms about.

“A thing, a thing! You know, with torches and people and walkie-talkies. A thing!”

“Oh… a thing.”

Jean was torn, looking at Marco, biting his lip and cheeks flushed with worry; his heart had never felt so endeared towards a person in his life, but he could also feel the rising ominous stomach ache of panic. Overall, he felt as though he wanted to throw up.

“We should help the thing,” he said finally.

Marco looked up. “Yes,” he said. “That’s why I came here.” He still sounded shaken. “We should help the thing.”

Jean leaned forward, wanting to comfort Marco in some way, but knowing there was no way he could. He heard Marco’s breath hitch in his throat, and Jean panicked. Instead, he brushed past him towards the door instead, and into the ever cooling night. Marco followed him quietly. Jean felt dizzy.

He let Marco overtake him, leading him towards Hanji, but before Marco was totally in front, Jean grabbed his wrist, almost reflexively. Marco looked back at him in the growing darkness, his eyes bright, then looked down towards his wrist, which Jean held in a sweaty hand. Jean let go quickly, as though Marco’s eyes had lasered his hand off.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. Marco mumbled something too, but he wasn’t sure what. It sounded like, “sorry” too. But Jean couldn’t be sure.

They raced in silence towards Hanji and Levi, who were standing on the edge of the woods. Hanji raised an arm in excited greeting as Marco and Jean jogged the way up to them.

“Marco! You fetched Jean! Great stuff. So, Armin, Mikasa, Reiner, Bert, and Annie have already gone out to find her, so you’re in good company. You’ve all got maps and torches to help you lead the way, and if you have any news, or get stuck, just use the walkie-talkies to get back to us. Ellie can’t have gone far, she’s only got tiny little baby legs so I doubt she’s gone far.” Hanji was contemplative for a moment. Then, “Maybe check the trees though. You’d be surprise how well some of the little’uns can climb.”

Jean stared.

“Look at your faces,” Hanji laughed. “Like this is the first time a kid has gone missing!”

Levi elbowed them hard in the ribs.

“No, but they always come back. Always. You’ll find her. I have faith!”

Jean breathed out softly. He felt Marco shift uncomfortably next to him. Was Hanji’s faith reassuring?

“Take supplies, Kirschstein, and be on your way,” intoned Levi.

Jean turned round as though a button had been pressed to activate him. He grabbed a walkie-talkie, a map, and a torch from the boxes in front Levi. With one last glance towards Marco whose mouth was now set in a determined line, picking his own equipment up, Jean set off towards the woods.

As he entered the creepy gloom of the trees, Jean distinctly heard Hanji stage whisper, “Was Jean covered in salsa or was that just me?” to Levi.

Jean hurried his pace. Within a few minutes, he was deep enough into the woods that he could only hear the stifled jabbering and whistling of the forest at night. His torch didn’t offer enough light really, just bouncing from tree to tree, making the twisted shapes even more gnarled and distorted. He was slowly regretting all those late night horror gaming sessions he, Connie and Sasha had played for so many years. He tried to remind himself that there were a few other people out there, who were also experiencing this horrible gloom. Although, he realised, most of them were probably in pairs at the very least.

Oh well.

He and Marco could’ve paired up he supposed.

But realistically, no they couldn’t have.

OK, so sure, Marco was probably the best person in the world at making Jean feel calm and at ease. He’d probably let Jean hold his wrist again, or even his hand, and curl his fingers round Jean’s in a soothing way. He’d maybe even accidentally twine their fingers together, but now, once he’d realise what he’d done, he probably wouldn’t untwine them. Jean probably wouldn’t let him. Marco’s super-soft, overly-moisturised hands, warm and big and protective.

So yeah, sure, it probably would’ve been a good idea to partner up with Marco.

But they were in the middle of a fight, and even though Ellie was missing, which was terrifying, they couldn’t just partner up all of a sudden.

Jean put a hand to his head. It felt like that reason didn’t even make sense, but it had made sense somewhere along the way, at some point during the evening. Marco was properly, actually angry with Jean, and Jean was at himself. They needed to work that sort of thing about before they could work together properly.

He thought about Marco’s face as he’d left the cabin earlier; the betrayal and hurt and frustration. Jean didn’t want to enforce his presence on someone he made feel like that.

The image of Marco bursting into the cabin later on that evening suddenly bid, unasked for, to the forefront of his mind. He had been terrified, and he had come to Jean to help calm himself.

With this, Jean realised with a chilling jolt, he’d left Marco to also roam the woods by himself, after he’d told Jean how scared he was.

Jean was such an asshole.

He growled to himself. But it only set his mind further: he wasn’t good news for Marco.

But even that argument was starting to wane in the creepy cold, when all he could think about was Marco, and how much he needed him, and how much Marco probably needed Jean.

At least thinking about all the teenage angst brewing inside of him, Jean didn’t have to think about the slowly enclosing woods.

He shivered.

Well, it was still there. Even if thinking about Marco offered him a brief sunny respite.

“E-Ellie,” he shouted, voice cracking, in an attempt to make the forest less eerie. It didn’t work. The gloom seemed to enfold in more, his shout lost to the abyss of the forest. He checked his map, to make sure he was where he thought he was. Pointing the torchlight down made him more paranoid though, so he went back to shouting for his little friend.

After a few more minutes, he heard a twig crack, and though it made him jump, he instinctively knew there was nothing sinister about it.

A second later there was a small sob.

“Ellie?” Jean whispered, as though the forest required him to keep his voice down all of a sudden.

“Jean?” An unmistakably obnoxious child’s voice. Though sounding less obnoxious and more terrified than anything else.

“Oh, thank Christ,” Jean threw his arms in the air, and leapt over a fallen trunk to get to her.

He wrapped his arms around her shaking shoulders. “Are you freezing cold? Ellie, what the _hell_ were you thinking?” He felt a flood of relief rush through him; the anxiety which had pitted in his stomach seemed to leap up in a flurry of adrenaline.

Ellie just shook, but she wasn’t crying. It looked like she had run out of tears long ago.

“I,” she began, a sob breaking the word. “I came to the woods because the girls – the girls were making fun of me.” Ellie wouldn’t look right at Jean. “And I got lost, and I-I thought I could get back, but I also thought I didn’t want to get back. Because they hated me.”

“Ellie…” Jean sat her down on the fallen tree trunk, and wrapped an arm round her shoulder. “El, how could they hate you?”

She looked away, eyes cast down towards where the torch was resting light. Jean gave it to her.

“Here,” he said.

She held it in her hands steadily, gripping it tighter than was necessary, her fingernails biting into the plastic casing.

“Tell me what happened, Ellie.”

She sighed unhappily.

“Well, Rebekah was telling me that I was really annoying, and Lea was saying it too. It was after you put me in charge of the raft making thing, and we lost and they said it was because I was so annoying. And they’ve just made me feel so horrible for ages.”

Jean sighed; that sounded similar to the way he’d treated Marco for so long.

“And then you left, and they said it was because of me… And I thought you hated me too. I thought you’d left because of me.”

Jean sat gobsmacked.

“Ellie,” he said. How had he not seen this coming? “Ellie, I would never leave because of you.”

He thought back; he really should have seen this coming. Ellie had had some quiet moments recently, a stark contrast to her usual loud self. He should have picked up on that more, instead of being so wrapped up in his own drama.

“Ellie, I think you’re great. You shouldn’t assume people hate you. I know it was a bit my fault for leaving with no real reason,” Jean rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable. Ellie thought he hated her. Marco had known Jean never hated him, not really, and they were over that now. But why was something ringing familiar with him?

Ellie had just wandered off; made a decision based on an idea she didn’t fully know. Jean didn’t hate her, not one bit, but she’d still thought so. It suddenly struck him. Marco was waiting for Jean to realise something. He was waiting for Jean to realise that he shouldn’t just decide things for himself; he shouldn’t have just assumed that they couldn’t be … friends. Friends at the very least. Jean had just gone off into the woods in his mind, and decided that Marco was better off without him. But Marco had had no say in that; Marco couldn’t defend his case. Jean put his head in his hands.

“Ellie. You are a wonderful, truly wonderful person. So don’t take this the wrong way, but we’re both idiots. We’ve both been huge idiots.”

Ellie looked at him with tears in her eyes. Jean once again bemoaned the absence of Marco; Marco would have been able to deal with this tactfully.

“Marco!” he suddenly yelled. “The others. Ellie, sorry, I have to buzz in to camp; they need to know you’re OK, so we can call off the search party.”

He turned to his walkie-talkie, and grinned suddenly.

“Search party. It’s a search party. The thing is a search party.”

Ellie looked on bemused, but didn’t question his sudden joy.

He pressed the button, and asked for Hanji.

Hanji came back to him; loud, chipper and very excited.

“You’ve found her? Knew I could put my faith in you, Jean!”

“Thank you for that, Hanji.”

“Chose you for a reason, kid.”

Jean smiled to himself as he put the walkie talkie down.

Ellie looked up to him.

“Even grownups like you still don’t have stuff together, do you?”

“Honestly, Ellie, you ten year olds have your lives together much more than we do.”

_But,_ he thought to himself, _I’m about to have my shit together much more than before._

He pat her on the back, and they stood up, Ellie holding onto the torch, while Jean held the map and clipped the walkie talkie into his belt. They slowly worked their way back towards the line of the woods, Jean grinning with the relief that he knew – he finally knew – what he had to say, what he owed, to Marco.

But Jean knew he still had some counselling to do.

“With the girls, Ellie… don’t – this is going to sound like a usual grownup answer but – don’t worry about that.” He thought for a moment. Sasha and Connie came to mind. “You’ll find your people.” He nodded to himself. “I did. And you deserve way much more than people who aren’t very nice to you. Do you want me to talk to them about it?”

Ellie fumbled with the torch.

“No… No, I think I can do it myself. I’ll let them know how I feel, a-and if they don’t like it, then they don’t get to be my friends,” she said.

“That sounds like a very good idea.”

They continued in a quiet but comfortable, and getting more comfortable as they went, silence. When they finally reached the edge of the woods, Ellie gave Jean a quick hug before rushing off towards Hanji, who was waiting with open arms.

“What happened here, Ellie?” they asked loudly, while Levi simmered behind her, gesturing for Jean to put the map and walkie talkie back in their boxes.

Jean was grinning. He had found Ellie, he had realised what he had to do, now he just had to find Marco.

After depositing the equipment, he looked around at the faces who were congratulating him, having returned themselves after Jean had walkie talkied in. Not one of them had freckles.

“Where’s Marco?” he asked.

Armin cringed.

“He’s … he’s still in there.”

“What? Why?”

“Well, his walkie talkie apparently didn’t work, so we’re just waiting; he’ll come out eventually, I’m sure.”

Jean’s heart paused for an instant.

Marco was still in the forest? In the terrifying and cold night? With no way of communicating back to the rest of them?

“Oh my God,” he whispered, a panic rising in his throat. He could feel his chest begin to flap with worry. “Oh my God,” he choked.

“Jean, don’t worry – I’m sure he’ll be out soon.” Armin tried to put a comforting hand on his arm.

“No, no.” Jean pushed Armin away, as he walked towards the forest. There was a bubble of bile forming in his throat; he wanted to throw up again, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t. “Marco.”

He began to jog towards the edge of the woods, then began to sprint. His chest heaving, his breaths heavy and painful, his legs on autopilot. He just kept running, and kept repeating Marco’s name. Jean already hated the forest, but now it was the enemy more than anything had been in his life. More than Levi, more than Hitch, more than himself. The forest just kept going on forever now. Somewhere in it, Marco drifted alone and probably frightened. But the forest kept moving and shifting, and Jean felt as though he would never find him.

What if Marco was lost forever and Jean never got to tell him what he now knew to be the truth. That he’d been a huge asshole. That he should’ve just talked to Marco about his worries.

He thought back to that night in the tent, when Jean had kissed him. It had barely happened, but Jean had still just shot up and left straight away. He knew now that Marco had called after him, and it had been sincere. Why he thought it couldn’t have been was beyond him now. Marco had let him go off because Jean was so hot and cold towards him. Marco didn’t follow because he wanted Jean to figure it out for himself.

But Jean hadn’t figured it out for himself. He’d just made it worse for the both of them. And he was so sorry. So so sorry.

But Marco had slowly made Jean realise one thing; that he wasn’t an unlovable person. If someone as lovely and bright and good as Marco could like Jean, then maybe Jean was OK. And he needed Marco to know all this. He needed Marco to know he understood now.

But now Marco was lost to the forest, maybe forever.

Jean had run to a fidgety halt, and he had to sit down suddenly. He let out a sob. He could feel he was panicking hard. In a strange and distant compartment of sensory memory, he realised the others had called out to him as he ran into the treeline. Yelled at him not to go. But he had run too fast for them to catch up.

It suddenly occurred to him. What if _Jean_ went missing in the woods forever, and never got to tell Marco everything he now knew to be true.

“Oh God,” he whispered to his hands, curled up against a tree trunk.

There was a far-off crashing sound, and a small voice from the murkiness asked, “Ellie?”

Jean leapt up with a bark.

“Marco!” he cried.

“Jean?” asked the small voice, becoming louder.

“Marco!” yelled Jean louder.

“Polo!” shouted the voice in reply, laughing in what sounded like relief.

Jean wiped stray tears from his eyes, his heart still pounding harder than he thought it could. He could see torchlight through the trees, and began to run towards it.

There he was. Marco. Unscathed. Unlost. Right there.

Jean didn’t know what else to do, but leap at him in a hug.

When Marco crashed to the floor with a pained, “Oof!” and Jean on top of him, he realised it was probably more of a tackle than anything as caring as a hug. But he didn’t care. He rested his forehead on Marco’s shoulder. Marco groaned in pain, but there was a hint of laughter. He put a hand on Jean’s head, and Jean could tell it was just an automatic gesture; Marco, the natural comforter.

“Jean, what are you doing? Where’s your torch?”

Jean was loathe to lift his head from Marco’s shoulder, which smelt of that earthy and warm scent he’d gotten so used to, but he had to reply.

“I found Ellie, and took her back to camp. And then … well, you were missing, and I ran into the woods to find you but … I forgot … about everything.”

Marco let out a half-sigh, half-chuckle. He just lay on the floor, one hand lightly holding his flashlight, the other absentmindedly stroking Jean’s hair.

“Jean…” he whispered.

“I know, I’m an idiot.” Jean flopped onto Marco’s chest, his hand resting close by. “I know how much of an idiot now too.”

Marco said nothing, but didn’t stop stroking Jean’s hair – though the movement had changed. Jean knew he was aware he was doing it now.

“Can I say how sorry I am?” Jean said quietly.

Marco closed his eyes.

“You can if we can get off the floor. It’s not as comfortable for me I think.”

“It is quite comfy here for me,” Jean said, a hint of a smile creeping into his words.

“Oh, I can totally imagine,” said Marco, a smile forming across his own face. “Come on.”

He got up quickly, and bent down to give Jean a hand to his feet.

“So,” Marco said.

“So,” Jean repeated, scratching his cheek. There was silence for a few seconds, while Jean refused to look at Marco, and Marco waited. “So, I have some things I need to say. And some things I need to apologise for. First of all, I really like you a lot, and I think you know this, but I feel like I should say it out loud to your face.” He realised so far, he hadn’t actually looked Marco in the face yet. So he did. He looked up, and saw Marco’s freckled face looking brightly back at him, eyebrows high with … something like shock. Maybe happiness too. But it was soon replaced with confusion. Jean shook his head. “Although now I think I’ve said this in the wrong order. But you should know that from the beginning, because I don’t think I did, and I think that might have been part of the reason why I screwed up so bad.”

Marco’s hand reached forward suddenly to Jean’s, but didn’t quite catch it.

“OK, I also need to say. I understand now. I understand why you were so angry. Because I wouldn’t let you care about me, even though that wasn’t my decision to make. I’m sorry for that, Marco. I have never wanted to be friends with someone in my life as much as I want to be friends with you right now. You make me feel safe and happy and like I’m not totally unlikeable.”

“You’re really not totally unlikeable, you know,” interjected Marco. “Just when you’re being especially pigheaded.”

Jean punched him lightly in the shoulder.

“I’m not being pigheaded now,” he said quietly.

“No,” chuckled Marco softly. “You’re not.”

Jean cleared his throat. “Anyway. What I wanted to say was that – friendship means I have to put my trust in you to make decisions for yourself. And if you don’t think I’ll mess everything up, then I can put my faith in that.”

“Jean,” Marco breathed out. “I’m sorry for being angry at you. I’ve seen you struggle with these things, but I thought it was something you needed to work out for yourself. I should’ve been more helpful.”

“Maybe a little bit,” Jean grinned, his voice diminishing to a whisper. “Maybe we were both a bit pigheaded.”

“Maybe,” Marco smirked, whispering back.

Jean only just noticed how close their faces had become.

“Are … we OK now, then?” he asked, in a whisper.

Marco nudged forward. “I’d say so,” he replied, just as quietly.

Jean couldn’t say who had leaned forward first. Maybe it had been both of them. But Marco’s lips and his lips had touched, and they were kissing. Actually kissing; mutually kissing. Not like Jean’s tent fumble, but proper, real kissing. It felt like the most natural thing he’d ever done, just leaning forward to Marco, and his hand naturally rising up to meet Marco’s cheek. His face was warm and soft. Kissing was nice; it felt pure and untainted by any nastiness or discomfort of anything other than the two of them. Jean reached his hands further up to Marco’s hair and neck, while Marco’s hands wound around Jean’s back.

Marco smiled against the kiss, and Jean felt his heart leap with pleasure. He nudged Marco against the tree he was leaning against, and deepened the kiss. Kissing would always feel weird; something strange about tongues touching tongues and trying to figure out just the right rhythm, and it was always wetter than expected. But it was warm, and with Marco, it made his heart expand with happiness, and Jean honestly felt like he didn’t want to do anything else for the rest of his life.

Marco’s hands moved further down Jean’s waist.

He suddenly pulled away, as though he’d been stung.

“What?” cried Jean, now feeling very cold. “What is it? Is it me?”

“No … I …” Marco looked at his hand, which had gone a strange red colour.

“What happened to your hand!” yelled Jean, grabbing at it. There was a cold lumpy liquid on it. “Oh,” he said.

“What’s on your pants, Jean?”

* * *

Eventually they reached the treeline and left the woods behind them; after what felt like hours of fumbling about in the murky forest, desperately attempting to figure out where they were on the map, bickering, and maybe a bit more kissing. Marco had Jean’s fingers intertwined with his own, and Jean felt as though he was leaving the trees a whole new person; dazed and grinning lopsidedly, he didn’t even take any mind when Levi started yelling curses at him, or the other counsellors crowded round them to check they were OK.

Jean was vaguely aware that someone threw a blanket over his shoulders, and noticed the same had happened to Marco, who was waving off worried friends.

“We’re fine, we’re fine. Jean found me – or, I think I found him. But we’re fine. I’m not that cold, thanks, it’s ok. I’m sorry to have worried you all.”

Marco was smiling broadly too. No one seemed to be commenting on the way his hand was wrapped tightly around Jean’s, but Jean could see, as the initial excitement of their return began to wane and the lateness of the night started to be felt, their peers became quieter and quieter. He could see Armin nudge Mikasa, and gesture quietly to Marco and Jean’s hands. Mikasa looked on unconcerned, but nodded. Thankfully Reiner hadn’t noticed yet, or the entire camp would probably have been alerted.

There was a clap of hands, and Hanji came barrelling through to them.

“Everyone’s crowding here and I want to see the fun,” they exclaimed. Everyone looked to Hanji tiredly. “What an exciting night,” Hanji giggled happily and twirled on their feet. “Two of you guys missing in the space of about four hours, amazing. How do you do it? And Jean found both of them! Should probably get a prize or something for that; sounds like something you should get a prize for.”

There was a distant yell of, “He is not getting a prize for that!” from Levi, but despite the fact that the second time around, it had been Marco who had found Jean and not the other way around, Jean didn’t have the energy to fight against the idea.

He just leaned slightly more into the boy next to him, feeling very sleepy.

“I think we should get back to the cabin, Hanji,” said Marco.

“Oh really? Are you sure? Sure, I guess. If you want to.” Hanji waved them away, and was looking at the trees. “I mean, we could start a game of getting lost in the forest … and seeing who can find who first … hm…” Jean didn’t care to listen to the rest of their mumbling.

They traipsed back to the cabin, hand in hand, blankets trailing behind them. At some point, Jean’s blanket slipped off his shoulders, but he didn’t bother trying to put it back on, so exhausted he was with the day, he promised he’d pick it up the next day, and Marco just laughed and extended his own blanket to Jean’s shoulders as well.

They finally reached the cabin, and Jean just sat in the chair by the bookcase, and began to doze.

“Oi,” whispered Marco near his face.

“Mmrh…” groaned Jean.

Marco passed him some clean pyjamas, and turned to get into his bed, already changed into his own pjs.

“Your clothes are covered in salsa.”

Jean grumbled as he hastily pulled off the dirtied outfit, and pulled on the delightfully warm and cosy pyjamas. He looked around the room for a moment; at Marco in his bed, and then to Jean’s bed, duvet ruffled and pillows askew.

Marco made a noise as though he was about to say something.

“What?” asked Jean.

Marco turned over, and sat up to look at him coyly.

“Well, it’s just,” he said, “your bed is also covered in salsa.”

Jean grinned.

“I guess it is.”

* * *

Jean was woken from his peaceful slumber, nestled in the comforting warmth of Marco’s arms, by a loud knocking at the door. He rolled over, and rested on Marco’s chest instead, trying to block out the noise. Marco stirred, and mumbled something incoherent.

“Jean! Marco!” yelled the knocking noise. Or the source of the knocking noise more likely. It was too early to distinguish.

Jean continued to doze on Marco’s chest, watery sunlight filtering through the window and warming his face.

He could hear some muttering outside the door. It sounded like Connie and Sasha. They could wait. It couldn’t be breakfast time for a while yet. And they hadn’t even bothered to turn up during Jean’s incredible double-rescue operation last night.

He smiled to himself, remembering just how incredible it had been.

He could hear the footsteps outside start pacing, and though this maybe should have alerted him to some impending doom.

Sure enough, Jean and Marco were forced into a rude awakening, leaping up in bed and clutching each other as Sasha burst through the door, breaking the latch.

“Sasha!” cried Marco, slowly letting go of Jean’s arm from the terrified clutch.

“There’s no time to talk, or – wow, or even discuss what’s going on here,” Sasha gestured towards Jean and Marco, still tangled up together in the tiny bed. “Connie, are we sure we don’t have time to discuss this?”

Marco choked slightly, and pulled the covers up a little more.

“Sasha, we don’t have time for anything-” Connie came bursting in behind Sasha. “Except … yeah, you’re right, maybe we do have time for this.”

“Let’s just assume we don’t have time to discuss it,” growled Jean. “What’s going on? Why don’t we have time?”

“The camp,” screeched Sasha. “The camp is getting shut down!”

Jean’s jaw dropped.

“What the heck?” cried Marco.

“It’s that inspector – the one who was here a few days ago. He’s come back, and he’s shutting us down.” Sasha was flinging her arms about wildly, gesticulating on nearly every word.

How could this be happening?

“Something about health and safety, and having proper records on the counsellors.”

That made sense, Jean supposed.

“Oh – and apparently last night, a load of people went missing in the forest! So gutted I missed it.” Sasha drew her arms in, and pulled her face into a pout. Jean and Marco turned to look at each other, trying to figure out whether this was actually as funny as it felt this early in the morning, so soon after it had all happened.

“Anyway, you have to get out of bed. We’ve got to go, like now. Hanji’s had to call all the parents of the kids, and they’ve all been sent to the HQ building to wait – and if their parents can’t pick them up, they have to go to this other camp somewhere nearby,” Connie looked grave.

“Poor kids … a camp that isn’t Camp Rosa … can you imagine?” Sasha shook her head in pity.

Jean thought he just about could.

“Well,” said Marco, turning to look at Jean next to him. “I guess we should start moving then.”

“I guess so…” mumbled Jean.

He wasn’t sure what to think; he wasn’t going to spending the rest of the summer at Camp Rosa. Would he ever be spending summer at Camp Rosa ever again? He put a hand to his forehead. What a nightmare.

Marco stretched and pushed off the bed, leaving Jean cold. Connie and Sasha, oblivious to any discomfort Marco might have at them being around while he got dressed (they had blissfully ignored Jean’s discomfort for years already), were content to stay in the cabin apparently, as Connie sat on the chair by the bookcase, and Sasha sat on the least salsa-covered area of Jean’s bed.

They chatted happily, whilst Marco and Jean drearily got their day clothes on. Jean felt a strange pang of sadness when he picked up one of the bright pink polo shirts, then realised he didn’t have to wear it. He didn’t particularly want to have to wear it, but he had thought he’d have another few weeks yet.

Finally, after Marco had managed to shove all his food and clothes back into his rucksack, they stripped the beds, and were ready to go.

They looked at the sad, empty cabin room.

“Wouldn’t it be funny if it turned out we were just pranking you right now?” said Connie. Sasha screeched with laughter.

“Are you?” asked Jean suspiciously.

Sasha wiped an eye of laughter tears. “No,” she said. “We’re not.”

Exiting the cabin, Jean could see that was true. There were no campers to be seen, and any counsellors outside were lugging bags about, and heading to the parking lot.

“So we just have to sign out with Hanji, and then we go.” Sasha was chatting away loudly. “Ooh! Maybe instead of going home, we could keep driving. We could do a big roadtrip!”

Jean yawned. Connie seemed to be enthusiastic about the idea as well. Jean groaned thinking about having to put up with Connie’s perfect driving for a week.

“Um,” said Marco quietly. “What … happens to the counsellors who don’t have a lift home?”

“Hm,” mused Sasha. “I think they also get to go to the other camp if they need to.”

Marco’s eyes flickered for a moment.

“Oh, right,” he said.

In his still only just waking up brain, Jean slowly realised what this meant.

“Wait, Marco, do you not have a ride?”

“I don’t even have a place to stay for the rest of summer! My mom is working away.” He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. “Good timing.”

“What, no, this is bullshit. We can’t just- What? This isn’t right.”

Connie jumped up.

“Marco should just come with us! How would you feel about a roadtrip, Marco?”

A red tinge rose to Marco’s ears.

“Are you sure … I don’t want to be any trouble.”

“Marco, you could _never_ be any trouble!” Sasha piped in. Jean’s heart swelled in appreciation of his friends. “We would _looooove_ to have you come with us! Especially Jean, right?”

Jean grinned despite himself. He knew Sasha was teasing him, but if he still got to spend the rest of the summer with Marco, he could handle a bit of teasing.

Sasha gasped and leapt at Connie. “We should invite Mina too!”

“That would be nice,” smiled Marco. He turned to Jean, and his smile grew wider. Jean felt a hand find his, and he smiled happily in return.

* * *

A short while later, they were all piling into Connie’s car. With the sun still bearing down in a car full of bags, and two extra people than before, Jean could tell this was going to be an unpleasantly sweaty ride. And Sasha seemed determined for them to keep driving for at least a week.

“Oh God,” he whispered to himself. What had he let himself get into?

“You OK?” asked Marco into his ear, sat in back, and crushed between Jean and Mina, despite being the tallest out of the three.

Jean looked at Marco’s happy bright face, and decided that it might be a sweaty ride, it might be a camp-less summer, it might be an awkward few days with yet more underwear flashes from his terrible amazing best friends; but Marco was there, and Marco made everything better.

Jean nodded and leaned up to kiss him, from the awkward position the small car had twisted him into. As he did, Connie’s car went over a pot hole, making Sasha and Mina screech, and making Jean most likely bruise Marco’s lip and possibly break his nose.

It was a good start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember that one time when it took me three months to update. well.
> 
> yes, that really is the end. it's kind of a disappointingly anticlimactic one i think, probably. it seems like more of a beginning of a different story. if you're looking for roadtrip jeanmarco, then i can happily point you to sinelanguage, who has a great one i've forgotten the name of. you'll know it when you see it.
> 
> but essentially, yeah. feel free to imagine how that roadtrip goes. i can imagine jean and marco going on an intense roadtrip with their best friends in a fairly mini car as they begin a very new relationship could lead to a great many hilarious and heartwarming moments, so let your imaginations run wild. but you can pretty much be guaranteed i won't be writing that one unfortunately!
> 
> as always, but a much bigger one than usual, a humongous thank you to ecco, who helped read over bits of this with her usual patience and grace - and after over a year and a half of not having to do it. however, it is probably still riddled with errors because i was too impatient to give them time to read over most of it.
> 
> i also want to thank canon, micky, charlie and piney who are people i never would have met had i not written ltc - and without whom, it probably would have never been what it is today. they have been the best friends when i have felt low or untalented or unhappy, and i am grateful every day that i know them now.
> 
> importantly, i also want to thank all you guys who've read this fic. thank you to you folk out there who have commented and given kudos and everything else; your support meant a lot, and without it, this whole fic, let alone this chapter, would have never happened. i know it's not the best piece of writing, and i know a lot of people disagree with the characterisation, and that's really fine - i had fun writing it and i have my own very solid idea of characterisation of the characters which i share with my wee group of friends.
> 
> basically, i am just really happy to finally be able to finish ltc as a novel-length serial (how did that even happen). it always felt like a bit of a hole somewhere in my life, and i've wanted to fill it for a very long time. i wouldn't be able to tell you why now, and not some other time, but it just felt right to do it. and trust me, despite how odd it is, the ending is exactly how i had written in my notes (though i did lose my notes for it a few months ago so this is dependent on whether you trust my memory)
> 
> so yes, thank you. the end. fin. etc.
> 
> p.s. my new tumblr is morvish but i don't do any fandom stuff at all but i will respond to asks and things

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading :) next chapter should be up in ~a week
> 
> update: i fixed some tags but i'm still bad at tags though, and i also put no warnings apply bc in this even though jean is 17 and i guess there's other people under 18 doing other things too but it's not a major big deal and it's not technically underage where i'm from though in this fic i guess it might be? gosH i don't know i'm thinking too much about it.


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